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(^reat Detective Stories 

From Dickens to Gaboriau 


At the Sign of 

THE CUPID AND LION 


THE DIAL DETECTIVE LIBRARY 

I. GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

from Voltaire to Poe 

II. GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

from Dickens to Gaboriau 

III. GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

from Costello to Stevenson 

THE SUTTON PAPERS 

by Selwyn Jepson 

THE MASTER CRIMINAL 

by J. J. Farjeon 


1924 




Qreat 

T>etecthe Stories 

From Dickens to Gaboriau 


EDITED BY 

JOSEPH LEWIS FRENCH 

Editor y Masterpieces of Mystery, etc., etc. 



ICtmoIn iHat'^Teagf) 
THE DIAL PRESS 


NEW YORK • MCMXXIV 





Copyright 1924 by 
DIAL PRESS, Incorporated 


♦ « 


©CIA8O86O1; 


THE PLIMPTON PRESS 
NORWOOD -MASS-U-S-A 


NOV- 1*24 




V 


d 

CONTENTS 


INSPECTOR BUCKET .... Charles Dickens 

SERGEANT CUFF.Wilkie Collins 

MONSIEUR LECOQ —MASTER-MIND 

Emile Gaboriau 


PAGE 

3 

185 

247 












FOREWORD 


I N pursuance of our original plan to present the 
detective-story, either as fact or fiction, in due 
chronological sequence, we offer in our second vol¬ 
ume a condensed version of three great master¬ 
pieces: “ Bleak House ’’ by Charles Dickens, The 
Moonstone ” by Wilkie Collins, and “ File No. 
113 by Gaboriau. 

Even the reader who is more or less familiar with 
Dickens’ perhaps greatest work, will find the sheer 
detective motive which is the plot — stripped of 
all extraneous details — absorbing reading. The 
same holds equally true regarding Wilkie Collins’ 
long novel “ The Moonstone.” “ File No. 113,” a 
masterpiece of sheer detective story-telling, is not 
necessarily so highly condensed in the present ver¬ 
sion. Gaboriau devoted a short but very laborious 
life to the long detective-story and has been called 
in consequence the father of the detective-novel.” 
Certainly in the present instance he divides his 
honors with two of the greatest masters of English 
fiction. 


Joseph Lewis French 



Inspector Bucket 


CHARLES DICKENS 


J^LEAK House which according to some author- 
x) ities shares with David Copperfield the honor 
of being Dickens' masterpiece is, so jar as the plot 
is concerned, purely a detective-story. An atmos¬ 
phere which enshrouds some great mystery haunts 
the reader from the moment Lady Dedlock, one of 
the three principal characters, appears on the scene. 
The shadow grows and deepens as the narrative 
unfolds with all the art of which Dickens was so 
supreme a master. Finally at just the proper 
moment of suspense Inspector Bucket is intro¬ 
duced — and the thrilling denouement — one of 
the most remarkable in all literature, — be¬ 
gins. The creation of Inspector Bucket was a labor 
of love in the hands of Dickens, who drew the por¬ 
trait from a very intimate friend with whom he 
often explored Darkest London — Inspector Field 
of the Metropolitan Police Force. What an admir¬ 
able union of qualities meets in Inspector Bucket! 
Coolness, sagacity, shrewd reasoning powers, unique 
deductive genius, combined with a courtesy that 
could captivate a lord, and the courage of a whole 
squadron of tried veterans. It is entirely conceiv¬ 
able that these were the personal traits of the origi¬ 
nal. We have as a result on the whole a living 
picture of a very human and likable person, — per¬ 
haps the most so in all detective litera¬ 
ture. — Editor. 


Inspector Bucket 

From “ Bleak House.” 

CHARLES DICKENS 
OLUMNIA, LADY DEDLOCK, has returned 



▼ to her house in town for a few days previous 
to her departure for Paris, where her ladyship in¬ 
tends to stay some weeks; after which her move¬ 
ments are uncertain. The fashionable intelligence 
says so, for the comfort of the Parisians, and it 
knows all fashionable things. To know things 
otherwise, were to be unfashionable. My Lady 
Dedlock has been down at what she calls, in famil¬ 
iar conversation, her ‘‘ place ” in Lincolnshire. 

Sir Leicester Dedlock is only a baronet, but 
there is no mightier baronet than he. His family 
is as old as the hills, and infinitely more respect¬ 
able. He has a general opinion that the world 
might get on without hills, but would be done up 
without Dedlocks. He would on the whole admit 
Nature to be a good idea (a little low, perhaps, 
when not inclosed with a park-fence), but an idea 
dependent for its execution on your great county 


3 


4 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


families. He is a gentleman of strict conscience, 
disdainful of all littleness and meanness, and ready, 
on the shortest notice, to die any death you may 
please to mention rather than give occasion for the 
least impeachment of his integrity. He is an honor¬ 
able, obstinate, truthful, high-spirited, intensely 
prejudiced, perfectly unreasonable man. 

Sir Leicester is twenty years, full measure, older 
than my lady. He will never see sixty-five again, 
nor perhaps sixty-six, nor yet sixty-seven. He has 
a twist of the gout now and then, and walks a 
little stiffly. He is of worthy presence, with his 
light gray hair and whiskers, his fine shirt-frill, his 
pure white waistcoat, and his blue coat with bright 
buttons always buttoned. He is ceremonious, 
stately, most polite on every occasion to my Lady, 
and holds her personal attractions in the highest 
estimation. His gallantry to my Lady, which has 
never changed since he courted her, is the one little 
touch of romantic fancy in him. 

Indeed, he married her for love. A whisper still 
goes about, that she had not even family; howbeit. 
Sir Leicester had so much family that perhaps he 
had enough, and could dispense with any more. 
But she had beauty, pride, ambition, insolent re¬ 
solve, and sense enough to portion out a legion of 
fine ladies. Wealth and station, added to these, 
soon floated her upward; and for years, now, my 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


5 


Lady Dedlock has been at the center of the fashion¬ 
able intelligence, and at the top of the fashionable 
tree. 

How Alexander wept when he had no more 
worlds to conquer, everybody knows — or has some 
reason to know by this time, the matter having 
been rather frequently mentioned. My Lady Ded¬ 
lock, having conquered her world, fell, not into the 
melting, but rather into the freezing mood. An 
exhausted composure, a worn-out placidity, an 
equanimity of fatigue not to be ruffled by interest 
or satisfaction, are the trophies of her victory. 
She is perfectly well-bred. If she could be trans¬ 
lated to Heaven to-morrow, she might be ex¬ 
pected to ascend without any rapture. 

She has beauty still, and if it be not in its hey¬ 
day, it is not yet in its autumn. She has a fine 
face — originally of a character that would be 
rather called very pretty than handsome, but im¬ 
proved into classicality by the acquired expression 
of her fashionable state. Her figure is elegant, and 
has the effect of being tall. Not that she is so, 
but that “ the most is made,’^ as the Honorable 
Bob Stables has frequently asserted upon oath, 
“ of all her points.’^ The same authority observes, 
that she is perfectly got up; and remarks, in 
commendation of her hair especially, that she is 
the best-groomed woman in the whole stud. 


6 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


With all her perfections on her head, my Lady 
Dedlock has come up from her place in Lincoln¬ 
shire (hotly pursued by the fashionable intelli¬ 
gence), to pass a few days at her house in town 
previous to her departure for Paris, where her 
ladyship intends to stay some weeks, after which 
her movements are uncertain. And at her house 
in town, upon this muddy, murky afternoon, pre¬ 
sents himself an old-fashioned old gentleman, at¬ 
torney-at-law, and eke solicitor of the High Court 
of Chancery, who has the honor of acting as legal 
adviser of the Dedlocks and has as many cast- 
iron boxes in his office with that name outside, as 
if the present baronet were the coin of the con¬ 
juror’s trick, and were constantly being juggled 
through the whole set. Across the hall, and up 
the stairs, and along the passages, and through the 
rooms, which are very brilliant in the season and 
very dismal out of it — Fairy-land to visit, but a 
desert to live in — the old gentleman is conducted, 
by a Mercury in powder, to my Lady’s presence. 

The old gentleman is rusty to look at, but is 
reputed to have made good thrift out of aristo¬ 
cratic marriage settlements and aristocratic wills, 
and to be very rich. He is surrounded by a mys¬ 
terious halo of family confidences; of which he is 
known to be the silent depository. There are noble 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


7 


Mausoleums rooted for centuries in retired glades 
of parks, among the growing timber and the fern, 
which perhaps hold fewer noble secrets than walk 
abroad among men, shut up in the breast of Mr. 
Tulkinghorn. He is of what is called the old school 
— a phrase generally meaning any school that 
seems never to have been young — and wears knee 
breeches tied with ribbons, and gaiters or stock¬ 
ings. One peculiarity of his black clothes, and of 
his black stockings, be they silk or worsted, is that 
they never shine. Mute, close, irresponsive to any 
glancing light, his dress is like himself. He never 
converses, when not professionally consulted. He 
is found sometimes, speechless but quite at home, 
at corners of dinner-tables in great country houses, 
and near doors of drawing-rooms, concerning which 
the fashionable intelligence is eloquent: where every¬ 
body knows him, and where half the Peerage stops 
to say “ How do you do, Mr. Tulkinghorn? ” He 
receives these salutations with gravity, and buries 
them along with the rest of his knowledge. 

Sir Leicester Dedlock is with my Lady, and is 
happy to see Mr. Tulkinghorn. 

“ My Lady’s cause has been again before the 
Chancellor, has it, Mr. Tulkinghorn? ” says Sir 
Leicester, giving him his hand. 

“ Yes. It has been on again to-day,” Mr. Tul- 


8 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


kinghorn replies, making one of his quiet bows to 
my Lady who is on a sofa near the fire, shading her 
face with a hand-screen. 

“ It would be useless to ask,” says my Lady, 
“ whether anything has been done.” 

“ Nothing that you would call anything, has been 
done to-day,” replies Mr. Tulkinghorn. 

“ Nor ever will be,” says my Lady. 

Sir Leicester has no objection to an intermin¬ 
able Chancery suit. It is a slow, expensive, British, 
constitutional kind of thing. To be sure, he has not 
a vital interest in the suit in question, her part 
in which was the only property my Lady brought 
him; and he has a shadowy impression that for his 
name — the name of Dedlock — to be in a cause, 
and not in the title of that cause is a most ridicu¬ 
lous accident. But he regards the Court of Chan¬ 
cery, even if it should involve an occasional delay 
of justice and a trifling amount of confusion, as 
a something, devised in conjunction with a variety 
of other somethings, by the perfection of human 
wisdom, for the eternal settlement (humanly speak¬ 
ing) of everything. 

As a few fresh affidavits have been put upon 
the file,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “ and as they are 
short, and as I proceed upon the troublesome 
principle of begging leave to possess my clients 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


9 


with any new proceedings in a cause; ” cautious 
man Mr. Tulkinghom, taking no more respon¬ 
sibility than necessary; “ and further, as I see 
you are going to Paris; I have brought them in my 
pocket. 

(Sir Leicester was going to Paris too, by-the- 
bye, but the delight of the fashionable intelligence 
was in his Lady.) 

Mr. Tulkinghom takes out his papers, asks per¬ 
mission to place them on a golden talisman of a 
table at my Lady’s elbow, puts on his spectacles, 
and begins to read by the light of a shaded lamp. 

“ ‘ In Chancery. Between John Jarndyce-’ ” 

My Lady interrupts, requesting him to miss as 
many of the formal horrors as he can. 

Mr. Tulkinghom glances over his spectacles, and 
begins again lower down. My Lady carelessly 
and scornfully abstracts her attention. Sir 
Leicester in a great chair looks at the fire, and 
appears to have a stately liking for the legal 
repetitions and prolixities, as ranging among the 
national bulwarks. It happens that the fire is 
hot, where my Lady sits; and that the hand-screen 
is more beautiful than useful, being priceless but 
small. My Lady, changing her position, sees the 
papers on the table — looks at them nearer — 
looks at them nearer still — asks impulsively: 



10 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Who copied that? ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn stops short, surprised by my 
Lady’s animation and her unusual tone. 

“ Is it what you people call law-hand? ” she 
asks, looking full at him in her careless way again, 
and toying with her screen. 

Not quite. Probably ”— Mr. Tulkinghorn ex¬ 
amines it as he speaks —“ the legal character 
which it has, was acquired after the original hand 
was formed. Why do you ask? ” 

“ Anything to vary this detestable monotony. 
O, go on, do! ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn reads again. The heat is 
greater, my Lady screens her face. Sir Leicester 
dozes, starts up suddenly, and cries “ Eh? what do 
you say? ” 

“ I say I am afraid,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, 
who had risen hastily, that Lady Dedlock is 
ill.” 

“ Faint,” my Lady murmurs, with white lips, 
‘‘only that; but it is like the faintness of death. 
Don’t speak to me. Ring, and take me to my 
room! ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn retires into another chamber, 
bells ring, feet shuffle and patter, silence ensues. 
Mercury at last begs Mr. Tulkinghorn to return. 

“ Better now,” quoth Sir Leicester, motioning 
the lawyer to sit down and read to him alone. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


II 


“ I have been quite alarmed. I never knew my 
Lady to swoon before. But the weather is ex¬ 
tremely trying — and she really has been bored 
to death down at our place in Lincolnshire.’’ 

In the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, that 
is to say, more particularly in Cook’s Court, 
Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby, Law-Stationer, pur¬ 
sues his lawful calling. 

Mr. Snagsby refers everything not in the prac¬ 
tical mysteries of the business to Mrs. Snagsby. 
She manages the money, reproaches the tax- 
gatherers, appoints the times and places of devo¬ 
tion on Sunday, licenses Mr. Snagsby’s enter¬ 
tainments, and acknowledges no responsibility as 
to what she thinks fit to provide for dinner; in¬ 
somuch that she is the high standard of compar¬ 
ison among the neighboring wives, a long way down 
Chancery Lane on both sides, and even out in 
Holborn, who, in any domestic passages of arms, 
habitually call upon their husbands to look at 
the difference between their (wives’) position and 
Mrs. Snagsby’s, and their (the husbands’) 
behavior and Mr. Snagsby’s. 

The day is closing in and the gas is lighted, 
but is not yet fully effective, for it is not quite 
dark. Mr. Snagsby standing at his shop-door, 


12 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


looking up at the clouds, sees a crow, who is out 
late, skim westward over the slice of sky belong¬ 
ing to Cook’s Court. The crow flies straight 
across Chancery Lane and Lincoln’s Inn Garden, 
into Lincoln’s Inn Fields. 

Here, in a large house, formerly of state, lives 
Mr. Tulkinghorn. Here, among his many boxes 
labeled with transcendent names, lives Mr. Tul- 
kinghom, when not speechlessly at home in 
country-houses where the great ones of the earth 
are bored to death. Here he is to-day, quiet at 
his table. An Oyster of the old school, whom 
nobody can open. 

Like as he is to look at, so is his apartment in 
the dusk of the present afternoon. Rusty, out of 
date, withdrawing from attention, able to afford 
it. Heavy broad-backed, old-fashioned mahogany 
and horsehair chairs, not easily lifted, obsolete 
tables with spindle-legs and dusty baize covers, 
presentation prints of the holders of great titles 
in the last generation, or the last but one, en¬ 
viron him. A thick and dingy Turkey-carpet 
muffles the floor where he sits, attended by 
two candles in old-fashioned silver candlesticks, 
that give a very insufficient light to his large room. 
The titles on the backs of his books have retired 
into the binding; everything that can have a lock 
has got one; no key is visible. Very few loose 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


13 


papers are about. He has some manuscript near 
him, but is not referring to it. With the round 
top of an inkstand, and two broken bits of seal¬ 
ing-wax, he is silently and slowly working out 
whatever train of indecision is in his mind. Now, 
the inkstand top is in the middle: now, the red 
bit of sealing-wax, now the black bit. That’s not 
it. Mr. Tulkinghorn must gather them all up 
and begin again. 

He keeps no staff; only one middle-aged man, 
usually a little out at elbows, who sits in a high 
pew in the hall, and is rarely overburdened with 
business. Mr. Tulkinghorn is not in a common 
way. He wants no clerks. He is a great reser¬ 
voir of confidences, not to be so tapped. His 
clients want him; he is all in all. Drafts that he 
requires to be drawn, are drawn by special pleaders 
in the Temple on mysterious instructions; fair 
copies that he requires to be made, are made at 
the stationers’, expense being no consideration. 
The middle-aged man in the pew knows scarcely 
more of the affairs of the Peerage than any cross¬ 
ing-sweeper in Holborn. 

The red bit, the black bit, the inkstand top, 
the other inkstand top, the little sand-box. So! 
You to the middle, you to the right, you to the 
left. This train of indecision must surely be 
worked out now or never. — Now! Mr. Tulking- 


14 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


horn gets up, adjusts his spectacles, puts on his 
hat, puts the manuscript in his pocket, goes out, 
tells the middle-aged man out at elbows, “ I shall 
be back presently.” Very rarely tells him any¬ 
thing more explicit. 

Mr. Tulkinghorn goes, as the crow came — not 
quite so straight, but nearly — to Cook’s Court, 
Cursitor Street. To Snagsby’s, Law Stationer’s, 
Deeds engrossed and copied. Law-writing executed 
in all its branches, etc., etc., etc. 

It is somewhere about five or six o’clock in the 
afternoon, and a balmy fragrance of warm tea 
hovers in Cook’s Court. Mr. Snagsby was about 
to descend into the subterranean regions to take 
tea, when he looked out of his door just now, and 
saw the crow who was out late. 

Master at home? ” 

Guster, maid-of-all-work, is minding the shop. 

Mr. Snagsby appears: greasy, warm, herbaceous, 
and chewing. Bolts a bit of bread and butter. 
Says, “ Bless my soul, sir! Mr. Tulkinghorn! ” 

“ I want half a word with you, Snagsby.” 

‘‘Certainly, sir! Dear me, sir, why didn’t you 
send your young man round for me? Pray walk in¬ 
to the back shop, sir.” Snagsby has brightened 
in a moment. 

The confined room, strong of parchment-grease, 
is ware-house, counting-house, and copying-office. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


15 

Mr. Tulkinghorn sits, facing round, on a stool at 
the desk. 

“ Jarndyce and Jamdyce, Snagsby.” 

“ Yes, sir.’^ Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas, 
and coughs behind his hand, modestly anticipat¬ 
ing profit. Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, is ac¬ 
customed to cough with a variety of expression, and 
so to save words. 

“ You copied some affidavits in that cause for 
me lately.” 

“ Yes, sir, we did.” 

“ There was one of them,” said Mr. Tulking¬ 
horn, carelessly feeling — tight, unopenable Oyster 
of the old school! — in the wrong coat-pocket, “ the 
hand-writing of which is peculiar, and I rather like 
it. As I happened to be passing, and thought I 
had it about me, I looked in to ask you — but I 
haven’t got it. No matter, any other time will do 
— Ah! here it is! — I looked in to ask you who 
copied this? ” 

Who copied this, sir? ” says Mr. Snagsby, tak¬ 
ing it, laying it flat on the desk, and separating all 
the sheets at once with a twirl and a twist of the 
left hand peculiar to law-stationers. “ We gave 
this out, sir. We were giving out rather a large 
quantity of work just at that time. I can tell you 
in a moment who copied it, sir, by referring to my 
book.” 


i6 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Mr. Snagsby takes his book down from the 
safe, eyes the affidavit aside, and brings his right 
forefinger traveling down a page of the book. 
“ Jewby — Packer — Jarndyce.” 

“ Jamdyce! Here we are, sir,’^ says Mr. Snags¬ 
by. “ To be sure! I might have remembered it. 
This was given out, sir, to a writer who lodges just 
over on the opposite side of the lane.” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn has seen the entry, found it 
before the law-stationer, read it while the fore¬ 
finger was coming down the hill. 

'' What do you call him? Nemo? ” says Mr. Tul- 
kinghom. 

“ Nemo, sir. Here it is. 

“Nemo! ” repeats Mr. Tulkinghorn. “Nemo is 
Latin for no one.” 

“ It must be English for some one, sir, I think,” 
Mr. Snagsby submits, with his deferential cough. 
“ It is a person's name. Here it is, you see, sir! 
Forty-two folio. Given out Wednesday night, 
eight o^clock; brought in Thursday morning, half 
after nine.” 

“ Half after nine, sir,” repeats Mr. Snagsby. 
“ Our law-writers, who live by job-work, are a 
queer lot; and this may not be his name, but it’s 
the name he goes by. I remember now, sir, that 
he gives it in a written advertisement he sticks up 
down at the Rule Office, and the King’s Bench 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


17 

Office, and the Judges’ Chambers, and so forth. 
You know the kind of document, sir — wanting 
employ? ” 

“ Have you given this man work before? ” asks 
Mr. Tulkinghorn. 

“ O dear, yes, sir! Work of yours.” 

“ Thinking of more important matters, I forget 
where you said he lived? ” 

“ Across the lane, sir. In fact, he lodges at a 
— at a rag and bottle shop.” 

“ Can you show me the place as I go back? ” 
‘^With the greatest pleasure, sir! ” 

Mr. Snagsby pulls off his sleeves and his gray 
coat, pulls on his black coat, takes his hat 
from its peg. “ Oh! here is my little woman! ” he 
says aloud. “ My dear, will you be so kind as to 
tell one of the lads to look after the shop, while I 
step across the lane with Mr. Tulkinghorn? Mrs. 
Snagsby, sir — I shan’t be two minutes, my love! ” 
Mrs. Snagsby bends to the lawyer, retires be¬ 
hind the counter, peeps at them through the win¬ 
dow-blind, goes softly into the back office, refers 
to the entries in the book still lying open. Is 
evidently curious. 

‘‘You will find that the place is rough, sir,” 
says Mr. Snagsby, walking deferentially in the 
road, and leaving the narrow pavement to the 
lawyer; “and the party is very rough. But 


i8 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

they’re a wild lot in general, sir. The advantage 
of this particular man is, that he never wants sleep. 
He’ll go at it right on end, if you want him to, as 
long as ever you like.” 

It is quite dark, now, and the gas-lamps have 
acquired their full effect. The lawyer and the 
law-stationer come to a rag and bottle shop, and 
general emporium of much disregarded merchan¬ 
dise, lying and being in the shadow of the wall 
of Lincoln’s Inn, and kept, as is announced in 
paint, to all whom it may concern, by one Krook. 

This is where he lives, sir,” says the law-sta¬ 
tioner. 

“ This is where he lives, is it? ” says the lawyer 
unconcernedly. Thank you.” 

“ Are you not going in, sir? ” 

“No, thank you, no; I am going on to the 
Fields at present. Good-evening. Thank you! ” 
Mr. Snagsby lifts his hat, and returns to his little 
woman and his tea. 

But Mr. Tulkinghorn does not go on to the 
Fields at present. He goes a short way, turns 
back, comes again to the shop of Mr. Krook, and 
enters it straight. It is dim enough, with a blot¬ 
headed candle or so in the windows, and an old 
man and a cat sitting in the back part by a fire. 
The old man rises and comes forward, with another 
blot-headed candle in his hand. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


19 


“ Pray is your lodger within? ” 

“ Male or female, sir? ” says Mr. Krook. 

“ Male. The person who does copying.’’ 

Mr. Krook has eyed his man narrowly. Knows 
him by sight. Has an indistinct impression of his 
aristocratic repute. 

“ Did you wish to see him, sir? ” 

“ Yes.” 

It’s what I seldom do myself,” says Mr. Krook 
with a grin. “ Shall I call him down? But it’s a 
weak chance if he’d come, sir! ” 

“ I’ll go up to him, then,” says Mr. Tulking- 
horn. 

“ Second floor, sir. Take the candle. Up 
there! ” Mr. Krook, with his cat beside him, stands 
at the bottom of the staircase, looking after Mr. 
Tulkmghorn. “Hi — hi!” he says, when Mr. 
Tulkinghom has nearly disappeared. The lawyer 
looks down over the hand-rail. The cat expands 
her wicked mouth, and snarls at him. 

“ Order, Lady Jane! Behave yourself to 
visitors, my lady! You know what they say of 
my lodger? ” whispers Krook, going up a step or 
two. 

“ What do they say of him? ” 

“They say he has sold himself to the Enemy; 
but you and I know better — he don’t buy. I’ll 
tell you what, though; my lodger is so black- 


20 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


humored and gloomy, that I believe he’d as soon 
make that bargain as any other. Don’t put him 
out, sir. That’s my advice! ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn with a nod goes on his way. 
He comes to the dark door on the second floor. He 
knocks, receives no answer, opens it, and acciden¬ 
tally extinguishes his candle in doing so. 

The air of the room is almost bad enough to 
have extinguished it, if he had not. It is a small 
room, nearly black with soot, and grease, and dirt. 
In the rusty skeleton of a grate, pinched at the 
middle as if poverty had gripped it, a red coke fire 
burns low. In the corner by the chimney, stand 
a deal table and a broken desk; a wilderness 
marked with a rain of ink. In another corner, a 
ragged old portmanteau on one of the two chairs, 
serves for cabinet or wardrobe; no larger one is 
needed, for it collapses like the cheeks of a starved 
man. The floor is bare; except that one old mat, 
trodden to shreds of rope-yarn, lies perishing upon 
the hearth. No curtain veils the darkness of the 
inight, but the discolored shutters are drawn to¬ 
gether; and through the two gaunt holes pierced 
in them, famine might be staring in — the Banshee 
of the man upon the bed. 

For, on a low bed opposite the fire, a confusion of 
dirty patchwork, lean-ribbed ticking, and coarse 
sacking, the lawyer, hesitating just within the door- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


21 


way, sees a man. He lies there dressed in shirt and 
trousers, with bare feet. He has a yellow look in 
the spectral darkness of a candle that has guttered 
down, until the whole length of its wick (still 
burning) has doubled over, and left a tower of 
winding-sheet above it. His hair is ragged, min¬ 
gling with his whiskers and his beard — the latter, 
ragged too, and grown, like the scum and mist 
around him, in neglect. Foul and filthy as the room 
is, foul and filthy as the air is, it is not easy to 
perceive what fumes those are which most oppress 
the senses in it; but through the general sickliness 
and faintness, and the odor of stale tobacco, there 
comes into the lawyer’s mouth the bitter, vapid 
taste of opium. 

Hallo, my friend! ” he cries, and strikes his 
iron candlestick against the door. 

He thinks he has awakened his friend. He lies 
a little turned away, but his eyes are surely open. 

“Hallo, my friend! ” he cries again. “Hallo! 
Hallo! 

As he rattles on the door, the candle, which has 
drooped so long, goes out, and leaves him in the 
dark; with the gaunt eyes in the shutters staring 
down upon the bed. A touch on the lawyer’s 
wrinkled hand, as he stands in the dark room, 
irresolute, makes him start and say “ What’s 
that? 


22 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ It’s me,” returns the old man of the house, 
whose breath is in his ear. Can’t you wake 
him? ” 

No.” 

“ What have you done with your candle? ” 

“ It’s gone out. Here it is.” 

Krook takes it, goes to the fire, stoops over the 
red embers, and tries to get a light. The dying 
ashes have no light to spare, and his endeavors are 
vain. Muttering, after an ineffectual call to his 
lodger, that he will go downstairs and bring a 
lighted candle from the shop, the old man departs. 
Mr. Tulkinghorn, for some new reason that he has, 
does not await his return in the room, but on the 
stairs outside. 

The welcome light soon shines upon the wall, 
as Krook comes slowly up, with his green-eyed cat 
following at his heels. ‘‘ Does the man generally 
sleep like this? ” inquires the lawyer, in a low voice. 

Hi! I don’t know,” says Krook, shaking his head 
and lifting his eyebrows. “ I know next to noth¬ 
ing of his habits, except that he keeps himself very 
close.” 

Thus whispering, they both go in together. As 
the light goes in, the great eyes in the shutters, 
darkening, seem to close. Not so the eyes upon 
the bed. 

“ God save us! ” exclaimed Mr. Tulkinghorn. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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“ He is dead! » 

Krook drops the heavy hand he has taken up, 
so suddenly that the arm swings over the bed¬ 
side. 

They look at one another for a moment. 

“ Send for some doctor! Call for Miss Flite 
up the stairs, sir. Here’s poison by the bed! Call 
out for Flite, will you? ” says Krook, with his 
lean hands spread out above the body like a 
vampire’s wings. 

Mr. Tulkinghorn hurries to the landing, and calls 
“ Miss Flite! Flite! Make haste, here, whoever 
you are! Flite! ” Krook follows him with his 
eyes, and, while he is calling, finds opportunity to 
steal to the old portmanteau, and steal back again. 

“ Run, Flite, run! The nearest doctor! Run! ” 
So Mr. Krook addresses a crazy little woman, 
who is his female lodger: who appears and 
vanishes in a breath: who soon returns, accom¬ 
panied by a testy medical man, brought from his 
dinner — with a broad snuffy lip, and a broad 
Scotch tongue. 

“ Ey! Bless the hearts o’ye,” says the medical 
man, looking up at them after a moment’s ex¬ 
amination. “ He’s just as dead as Phairy! ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn (standing by the old port¬ 
manteau) inquires if he has been dead any time? 

‘‘ Any time, sir? ” says the medical gentleman. 


24 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ It’s probable he wull have been dead aboot 
three hours.” 

“About that time, I should say,” observes a 
dark young man, on the other side of the bed. 

“ Air you in the maydickle prayfession your¬ 
self, sir? ” inquires the first. 

The dark young man says yes. 

“ Then I’ll just tak’ my depairture,” replies the 
other; “for I’m nae gude here! ” With which 
remark, he finishes his brief attendance, and re¬ 
turns to finish his dinner. 

The dark young surgeon passes the candle across 
and across the face, and carefully examines the law- 
writer, who has established his pretentions to his 
name by becoming indeed No one. 

“ I knew this person by sight, very well,” says 
he. “ He has purchased opium of me, for the 
last year and a half. Was anybody present re¬ 
lated to him? ” glancing round upon the three 
bystanders. 

“ I was his landlord,” grimly answers Krook, 
taking the candle from the surgeon’s outstretched 
hand. “ He told me once, I was the nearest rela¬ 
tion he had.” 

“ He has died,” says the surgeon, “ of an over¬ 
dose of opium, there is no doubt. The room is 
strongly flavored with it. There is enough here 


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now,” taking an old tea-pot from Mr. Krook, “ to 
kill a dozen people.” 

“ Do you think he did it on purpose? ” asks 
Krook. 

“ Took the over-dose? ” 

“ Yes! ” Krook almost smacks his lips with the 
unction of a horrible interest. 

“ I can’t say. I should think it unlikely, as he 
has been in the habit of taking so much. But no¬ 
body can tell. He was very poor, I suppose? ” 

“ I suppose he was. His room — don’t look 
rich,” says Krook, who might have changed eyes 
with his cat, as he casts his sharp glance around. 
“ But I have never been in it since he had it, and 
he was too close to name his circumstances to me.” 

“ Did he owe you any rent? ” 

“ Six weeks.” 

He will never pay it! ” says the young man, 
resuming his examination. “It is beyond a doubt 
that he is indeed as dead as Pharaoh; and to 
judge from his appearance and condition, I should 
think it a happy release. Yet he must have been 
a good figure when a youth, and I dare say, good- 
looking.” He says this, not unfeelingly, while sit¬ 
ting on the bedstead’s edge, with his face towards 
that other face, and his hand upon the region of 
the heart. “ I recollect once thinking there was 


26 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

something in his manner, uncouth as it was, that 
denoted a fall in life. Was that so? ” he continues, 
looking round. 

Krook replies, “ You might as well ask me to 
describe the ladies whose heads of hair I have got 
in sacks downstairs. Than that he was my lodger 
for a year and a half, and lived — or didn’t live 

— by law-writing, I know no more of him.” 

During this dialogue, Mr. Tulkinghorn has stood 

aloof by the old portmanteau, with his hands be¬ 
hind him, equally removed, to all appearance, from 
all three kinds of interest exhibited near the bed 

— from the young surgeon’s professional interest 
in death, noticeable as being quite apart from his 
remarks on the deceased as an individual; from the 
old man’s unction; and the little crazy woman’s 
awe. His imperturbable face has been as inex¬ 
pressive as his rusty clothes. One could not even 
say he has been thinking all this while. 

He now interposes; addressing the young sur¬ 
geon, in his unmoved, professional way. 

“ I looked in here,” he observes, “ just before 
you, with the intention of giving this deceased man, 
whom I never saw alive, some employment at his 
trade of copying. I had heard of him from my 
stationer — Snagsby of Cook’s Court. Since no 
one here knows anything about him, it might be 
as well to send for Snagsby. Ah! ” to the little 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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crazy woman, who has often seen him in court, 
and whom he has often seen, and who proposes, 
in frightened dumb-show, to go for the law-sta¬ 
tioner. “ Suppose you do! ” 

While she is gone, the surgeon abandons his 
hopeless investigation, and covers its subject with 
the patchwork counterpane. Mr. Krook and he 
interchange a word or two. Mr. Tulkinghorn says 
nothing; but stands, ever, near the old port¬ 
manteau. 

Mr. Snagsby arrives hastily, in his gray coat 
and black sleeves. “ Dear me, dear me,” he says; 
“ and it has come to this, has it! Bless my 
soul! ” 

“ Can you give the person of the house any in¬ 
formation about this unfortunate creature, Snags¬ 
by? ” inquires Mr. Tulkinghorn. “ He was in ar¬ 
rears with his rent, it seems. And he must be 
buried, you know.” 

“ Well, sir,” says Mr. Snagsby, coughing his 
apologetic cough behind his hand; I really don’t 
know what advice you could offer, except send¬ 
ing for the beadle.” 

“ I don’t speak of advice,” returns Mr. Tul- 
kinghom. “ I could advise-” 

“No one better, sir, I am sure,” says Mr. 
Snagsby, with his deferential cough. 

“ I speak of affording some clew to his con- 



28 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

nections, or to where he came from, or to anything 
concerning him.” 

“ I assure you, sir,” says Mr. Snagsby, after pre¬ 
facing his reply with his cough of general propitia¬ 
tion, “ that I know no more where he came from 
than I know-” 

“ Where he has gone to, perhaps,” suggests the 
surgeon to help him out. 

A pause. Mr. Tulkinghorn looking at the law- 
stationer. Mr. Krook, with his mouth open, look¬ 
ing for somebody to speak next. 

“ As to his connections, sir,” says Mr. Snagsby, 

if a person was to say to me, ‘ Snagsby, here’s 
twenty thousand pound down, ready for you in the 
Bank of England, if you’ll only name one of them,’ 
I couldn’t do it, sir! About a year and a half ago 
— to the best of my belief at the time when he 
first came to lodge at the present rag and bottle 
shop-” 

“ That was the time! ” says Krook, with a nod. 

“ About a year and a half ago,” says Mr. Snags¬ 
by, strengthened, “ he came into our place one 
morning after breakfast, and, finding my little 
woman (which I name Mrs. Snagsby when I use 
that appellation) in our shop, produced a specimen 
of his handwriting, and gave her to understand 
that he was in want of copying work to do, and 
was — not to put too fine a point upon it — 




INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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hard up! My little woman is not in general 
partial to strangers, particular — not to put too 
fine a point upon it — when they want anything. 
But she was rather took by something about his 
person; whether by his being unshaved, or by his 
hair being in want of attention, or by what other 
ladies’ reasons, I leave you to judge; and she ac¬ 
cepted of the specimen, and likewise of the address. 
My little woman hasn’t a good ear for names,” pro¬ 
ceeds Mr. Snagsby, after consulting his cough of 
consideration behind his hand, and she con¬ 
sidered Nemo equally the same as Nimrod. In 
consequence of which, she got into a habit of say¬ 
ing to me at meals, ‘ Mr. Snagsby, you haven’t 
found Nimrod any work yet? ’ or ‘ Mr. Snagsby, 
why didn’t you give that eight-and-thirty Chancery 
folio in Jamdyce, to Nimrod? ’ or such like. And 
that is the way he gradually fell into job-work at 
our place; and that is the most I know of him, 
except that he was a quick hand, and a hand not 
sparing of night work; and that if you gave him 
out, say five-and-forty folio on the Wednesday 
night, you would have it brought in on the Thurs¬ 
day morning. All of which ” — Mr. Snagsby con¬ 
cludes by politely motioning with his hat towards 
the bed, as much as to add — “I have no doubt 
my honorable friend would confirm, if he were in 
a condition to do it.” 


30 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Hadn’t you better see,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn 
to Krook, whether he had any papers that may 
enlighten you? There will be an inquest, and you 
will be asked the question. You can read? ” 

No, I can’t,” returns the old man, with a sud¬ 
den grin. 

“ Snagsby,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “ look 
over the room for him. He will get into some 
trouble or difficulty, otherwise. Being here, I’ll 
wait, if you make haste; and then I can testify on 
his behalf, if it should ever be necessary, that all 
was fair and right. If you will hold the candle 
for Mr. Snagsby, my friend, he’ll soon see whether 
there is anything to help you.” 

In the first place, here’s an old portmanteau, 
sir,” says Snagsby. 

Ah, to be sure, so there is! Mr. Tulkinghorn 
does not appear to have seen it before, though he 
is standing so close to it, and though there is very 
little else, Heaven knows. 

The marine-store merchant holds the light, and 
the law stationer conducts the search. The surgeon 
leans against the corner of the chimney-piece; Miss 
Flite peeps and trembles just within the door 
The apt old scholar of the old school, with his 
dull black breeches tied with ribbons at the knees, 
his large black waistcoat, his long-sleeved black 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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coat, and his wisp of limp white neckerchief tied 
in the bow the Peerage knows so well, stands in 
exactly the same place and attitude. 

There are some worthless articles of clothing in 
the old portmanteau; there is a bundle of pawn¬ 
brokers’ duplicates, those turnpike tickets on the 
road of Poverty; there is a crumpled paper smell 
of opium, on which are scrawled rough memoranda 
— as, took, such a day, so many grains; took, 
such another day, so many more — begun some 
time ago, as if with the intention of being regularly 
continued, but soon left off. There are a few 
dirty scraps of newspapers, all referring to Cor¬ 
oners’ inquests; there is nothing else. They search 
the cupboard, and the drawer of the ink-splashed 
table. There is not a morsel of an old letter, or 
of any other writing, in either. The young sur¬ 
geon examines the dress on the law-writer. A 
knife and some odd halfpence are all he finds. 
Mr. Snagsby’s suggestion is the practical sugges¬ 
tion after all, and the beadle must be called in. 

So the little crazy lodger goes for the beadle, and 
the rest come out of the room. “ Don’t leave the 
cat there! ” says the surgeon: that won’t do! ” 
Mr. Krook therefore drives her out before him; 
and she goes fmtively downstairs, winding her 
little tail, and licking her lips. 


32 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Good-night! ” says Mr. Tulkinghorn; and goes 
home to meditation. 

At the Coroner’s inquest Mr. Tulkinghorn is re¬ 
ceived with distinction, and seated near the 
Coroner. The inquiry proceeds. The Jury learn 
how the subject of their inquiry died, and learn 
no more about him. “ A very eminent solicitor is 
in attendance, gentlemen,” says the Coroner, “ who, 
I am informed, was accidentally present, when dis¬ 
covery of the death was made; but he could only 
repeat the evidence you have already heard from 
the surgeon, the landlord, the lodger, and the law- 
stationer; and it is not necessary to trouble him. 
Is anybody in attendance who knows anything 
more? ” 

Mrs. Piper pushed forward by Mrs. Perkins, 
Mrs. Piper sworn. 

Anastasia Piper, gentlemen. Married woman. 
Now, Mrs. Piper — what have you to say about 
this? 

Why, Mrs. Piper has a good deal to say, chiefly 
in parenthesis and without punctuation, but not 
much to tell. Mrs. Piper lives in the court (which 
her husband is a cabinetmaker), and it has long 
been well beknown among the neighbors (count¬ 
ing from the day next but one before the half- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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baptizing of Alexander James Piper aged eighteen 
months and four days old on accounts of not be¬ 
ing expected to live such was the sufferings gentle¬ 
men of that child in his gums) as the Plaintive —• 
so Mrs. Piper insists on calling the deceased—■ 
was reported to have sold himself. Thinks it was 
the Plaintive’s air in which that report originatinin. 
See the Plaintive often and considered as his air 
was feariocious and not to be allowed to go about 
some children being timid (and if doubted hoping 
Mrs. Perkins may be brought forard for she is 
here and will do credit to her husband and her¬ 
self and family). Has seen the Plaintive wexed 
and worrited by the children (for children they 
will ever be and you cannot expect them specially 
if of playful dispositions to be Methoozellers which 
you was not yourself). On accounts of this and his 
dark looks has often dreamed as she see him take 
a pick-axe from his pocket and split Johnny’s head 
(which the child knows not fear and has re- 
peatually called after him close at his eels). Never 
however see the Plaintive take a pick-axe or any 
other wepping far from it. Has seen him hurry 
away when run and called after as if not partial 
to children and never see him speak to neither 
child nor grown person at any time (excepting the 
boy that sweeps the crossing down the lane over 
the way round the comer which if he was here 


34 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


would tell you that he has been a-speaking to him 
frequent). 

Says the Coroner, is that boy here? Sa5rs the 
beadle, no, sir, he is not here. Says the Coroner, 
go and fetch him then. In the absence of the 
active and intelligent, the Coroner converses with 
Mr. Tulkinghorn. 

O! Here’s the boy, gentlemen! 

Here he is, very muddy, very hoarse, very rag¬ 
ged. Now, boy! —But stop a minute. Caution. 
This boy must be put through a few preliminary 
paces. 

Name, Jo. Nothing else that he knows on. 
Don’t know that everybody has two names. Never 
heerd of such a think. Don’t know that Jo is 
short for a longer name. Thinks it long enough 
for him. He don’t find no fault with it. Spell 
it? No. He can’t spell it. No father, no mother, 
no friends. Never been to school. What’s home? 
Knows a broom’s a broom, and knows it’s wicked 
to tell a lie. Don’t recollect who told him about 
the broom, or about the lie, but knows both. 
Can’t exactly say what’ll be done to him arter he’s 
dead if he tells a lie to the gentlemen here, but 
believes it’ll be something wery bad to punish him, 
and serve him right — and so he’ll tell you the 
truth. 

“ This won’t do, gentlemen! ” says the Coroner, 
with a melancholy shake of the head. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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“ Don’t you think you can receive his evidence, 
sir? ” asks an attentive Juryman. 

Out of the question,” says the Coroner. “ You 
have heard the boy. ‘ Can’t exactly say ’ won’t 
do, you know. We can’t take that, in a Court of 
Justice, gentlemen. It’s terrible depravity. Put 
the boy aside.” 

Boy put aside; to the great edification of the 
audience;—especially of Little Swills, the Comic 
Vocalist. 

Now. Is there any other witness? No other 
witness. 

Very well, gentlemen! Here’s a man unknown, 
proved to have been in the habit of taking opium 
in large quantities for a year and a half, found 
dead of too much opium. If you think you have 
any evidence to lead you to the conclusion that he 
committed suicide, you will come to that conclu¬ 
sion. If you think it is a case of accidental death, 
you will find a Verdict accordingly. 

Verdict accordingly. Accidental death. No 
doubt. Gentlemen, you are discharged. Good 
afternoon. 

While the Coroner buttons his great-coat, Mr. 
Tulkinghom and he give private audience to the 
rejected witness in a corner. 

That graceless creature only knows that the dead 
man (whom he recognized just now by his yellow 
face and black hair) was sometimes hooted and 


36 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


pursued about the streets. That one cold, winter 
night, when he, the boy, was shivering in a door¬ 
way near his crossing, the man turned to look at 
him, and came back, and, having questioned him 
and found that he had not a friend in the world, 
said, “ Neither have I. Not one! ” and gave him 
the price of a supper and a night’s lodging. That 
the man had often spoken to him since; and asked 
him whether he slept sound at night, and how he 
bore cold and hunger, and whether he ever wished 
to die; and similar strange questions. That when 
the man had no money, he would say in passing, 
“ I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,” but that when 
he had any, he had always (as the boy most heartily 
believes) been glad to give him some. 

He wos wery good to me,” says the boy, wip¬ 
ing his eyes with his wretched sleeves. “ Wen I 
see him a-layin’ so stritched out just now, I wished 
he could have heerd me tell him so. He wos wery 
good to me, he wos! ” 

As he shuffles downstairs, Mr. Snagsby, lying in 
wait for him, puts a half-crown in his hand. If 
you ever see me coming past your crossing with my 
little woman — I mean a lady —” says Mr. Snags¬ 
by, with his finger on his nose, don’t allude to 
it! ” 

Daylight comes, morning comes, noon comes. 

Then the active and intelligent, who has got 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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into the morning papers as such, comes with his 
pauper company to Mr. Krook’s, and bears off the 
body of our dear brother here departed, to a 
hemmed-in churchyard, pestiferous and obscene. 
Into a beastly scrap of ground which a Turk would 
reject as a savage abomination, and a Caffre would 
shudder at, they bring our dear brother here de¬ 
parted, to receive Christian burial. 

With houses looking on, on every side, save where 
a reeking little tunnel of a court gives access to the 
iron gate — with every villainy of life in action 
close on death, and every poisonous element of 
death in action close on life — here, they lower our 
dear brother down a foot or two; here, sow him 
in corruption, to be raised in corruption: an aveng¬ 
ing ghost at many a sick-bedside; a shameful 
testimony to future ages, how civilization and 
barbarism walked this boastful island together. 

With the night, comes a slouching figure through 
the tunnel-court to the outside of the iron gate. It 
holds the gate with its hands, and looks in between 
the bars; stands looking in, for a little while. 

It then, with an old broom it carries, softly 
sweeps the step, and makes the archway clean. It 
does so, very busily and trimly; looks in again, a 
little while; and so departs. 

Jo, it is thou? Well, well! Though a rejected 
witness, who “ can’t exactly say ” what will be 


38 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

done to him in greater hands than men’s, thou art 
not quite in outer darkness. There is something 
like a distant ray of light in thy muttered reason 
for this: 

“ He wos wery good to me, he wos! ” 

It has left off raining down in Lincolnshire, at 
last, and Chesney Wold has taken heart. Mrs. 
Rouncewell, housekeeper, is full of hospitable 
cares, for Sir Leicester and my Lady are coming 
home from Paris. 

Through the same cold sunshine, and the same 
sharp wind, my Lady and Sir Leicester, in their 
traveling chariot (my Lady’s woman, and Sir 
Leicester’s man affectionate in the rumble), start 
for home. With a considerable amount of jingling 
and whip-cracking, and many plunging demonstra¬ 
tions on the part of two bare-backed horses, and 
two Centaurs with glazed hats, jack-boots, and flow¬ 
ing manes and tails, they rattle out of the yard of 
the Hotel Bristol in the Place Vendome, and can¬ 
ter between the sun-and-shadow-chequered colon¬ 
nade of the Rue de Rivoli and the garden of the 
ill-fated palace of a headless king and queen, off 
by the Place of Concord, and the Elysian Fields, 
and the Gate of the Star, out of Paris. 

My Lady Dedlock cannot go too fast from 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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Paris. Weariness of soul lies before her, as it lies 
behind — her Ariel has put a girdle of it round 
the whole earth, and it cannot be unclasped — 
but the imperfect remedy is always to fly, from the 
last place where it has been experienced. Fling 
Paris back into the distance, then, exchanging it 
for endless avenues and cross-avenues of wintry 
trees! And, when next beheld, let it be some 
leagues away, with the Gate of the Star a white 
speck glittering in the sun, and the city a mere 
mound in a plain; two dark square towers rising 
out of it, and light and shadow descending on it 
aslant, like the angels in Jacob’s dream! 

Sir Leicester is generally in a complacent state, 
and rarely bored. After reading his letters, he 
leans back in his corner of the traveling car¬ 
riage, and generally reviews his importance to 
society. 

“ You have an unusual amount of correspon¬ 
dence this morning? ” says my Lady after a long 
time. 

Nothing in it, though. Nothing whatever.” 

“ I saw one of Mr. Tulkinghorn’s long effusions, 
I think? ” 

“ You see everything,” says Sir Leicester, with 
admiration. 

“Ha! ” sighs my Lady, “he is the most tire¬ 
some of men! ” 


40 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“He sends — I really beg your pardon —he 
sends,” says Sir Leicester, selecting the letter and 
unfolding it, “ a message to you. He' says, ‘ In 

the matter of the right of way-^ I beg your 

pardon, that’s not the place. He says — yes! 
Here I have it! He says, beg my respectful 
compliments to my Lady, who, I hope, has bene¬ 
fited by the change. Will you do me the favor to 
mention (as it may interest her) that I have some¬ 
thing to tell her on her return, in reference to the 
person who copied the affidavit in the Chancery 
suit, which so powerfully stimulated her curiosity. 
I have seen him.’ ” 

My Lady, leaning forward, looks out of her win¬ 
dow. 

“ That’s the message,” observes Sir Leicester. 

“ I should like to walk a little,” says my Lady, 
still looking out of the window. 

“ Walk? ” repeats Sir Leicester, in a tone of 
surprise. 

“ I should like to walk a little,” says my Lady, 
with unmistakable distinctness. “ Please to stop the 
carriage.” 

The carriage is stopped, the affectionate man 
alights from the rumble, opens the door, and lets 
down the steps, obedient to an impatient motion 
of my Lady’s hand. My Lady alights so 
quickly, and walks away so quickly, that Sir 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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Leicester, for all his scrupulous politeness, 
is unable to assist her, and is left behind. A space 
of a minute or two has elapsed before he comes up 
with her. She smiles, looks very handsome, takes 
his arm, lounges with him for a quarter of a mile, 
is very much bored, and resumes her seat in the 
carriage. 

The rattle and clatter continue through the 
greater part of three days, with more or less of 
bell-jingling and whip-cracking, and more or less 
plunging of Centaurs and bare-backed horses. 

The sea has no appreciation of great men, but 
knocks them about like the small fry. It is habitu¬ 
ally hard upon Sir Leicester, whose countenance it 
greenly mottles in the manner of sage-cheese, and 
in whose aristocratic system it effects a dismal 
revolution. It is the Radical of Nature to him. 
Nevertheless, his dignity gets over it, after stop¬ 
ping to refit; and he goes on with my Lady for 
Chesney Wold, lying only one night in London on 
the way to Lincolnshire. 

Through the same cold sunlight — colder as the 
day declines, — and through the same sharp wind 
— sharper as the separate shadows of bare trees 
gloom together in the woods, and as the Ghost’s 
Walk, touched at the western corner by a pile of 
fire in the sky, resigns itself to coming night, — 
they drive into the park The traveling chariot 


42 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


rolls on to the house; where fires gleam warmly 
through some of the windows, though not through 
so many as to give an inhabited expression to the 
darkening mass in front. 

Mrs. Rouncewell is in attendance, and receives 
Sir Leicester's customary shake of the hand with 
a profound courtesy. 

“ How do you do, Mrs. Rouncewell? I am glad 
to see you." 

I hope I have the honor of welcoming you in 
good health, Sir Leicester? " 

“ In excellent health, Mrs. Rouncewell." 

“ My Lady is looking charmingly well," says 
Mrs. Rouncewell, with another courtesy. 

My Lady signifies, without profuse expenditure 
of words, that she is as wearily well as she can 
hope to be. 

My Lady’s maid is a Frenchwoman of two-and- 
thirty, from somewhere in the southern country 
about Avignon and Marseilles — a large-eyed 
brown woman with black hair; who would be 
handsome, but for a certain feline mouth, and 
general uncomfortable tightness of the face, ren¬ 
dering the jaws too eager, and the skull too prom¬ 
inent. There is something indefinably keen and 
wan about her anatomy; and she has a watchful 
way of looking out of the corners of her eyes with- 


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out turning her head, which could be pleasantly 
dispensed with — especially when she is in an ill- 
humor and near knives. Through all the good taste 
of her dress and little adornments, these objections 
so express themselves, that she seems to go about 
like a very neat She-Wolf imperfectly tamed. Be¬ 
sides being accomplished in all the knowledge 
appertaining to her post, she is almost an Eng- 
lish-woman in her acquaintance with the lan¬ 
guage. 

Chesney Wold is quite full, within a week or two, 
so full, that a burning sense of injury arises in the 
breasts of ill-lodged ladies’-maids, and is not to 
be extinguished. Only one room is empty. It is 
a turret chamber of the third order of merit, 
plainly, but comfortably furnished, and having an 
old-fashioned business air. It is Mr. Tulkinghorn’s 
room, and is never bestowed on anybody else, 
for he may come at any time. He is not come 
yet. It is his quiet habit to walk across the park 
from the village in fine weather; to drop into this 
room, as if he had never been out of it since he 
was last seen there; to request a servant to inform 
Sir Leicester that he is arrived, in case he should 
be wanted; and to appear ten minutes before 
dinner, in the shadow of the library-door. He 
sleeps in his turret, with a complaining flag-staff 


44 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


over his head; and has some leads outside, on 
which, any fine morning when he is down here, 
his black figure may be seen walking before break¬ 
fast like a larger species of rook. 

Every night, my Lady casually asks her maid: 

“ Is Mr. Tulkinghorn come? ” 

Every night the answer is, “ No, my Lady, not 
yet.’' 

One night, while having her hair undressed, my 
Lady loses herself in deep thought after this reply, 
until she sees her own brooding face, in the op¬ 
posite glass, and a pair of black eyes curiously 
observing her. 

“ Be so good as to attend,” says my Lady then, 
addressing the reflection of Hortense, “ to your 
business. You can contemplate your beauty at 
another time.” 

“ Pardon! It was your Ladyship’s beauty.” 

“ That,” says my Lady, “ you needn’t contem¬ 
plate at all.” 

At length, one afternoon a little before sunset, 
when the bright groups of figures, which have for 
the last hour or two enlivened the Ghost’s Walk, 
are all dispersed, and only Sir Leicester and my 
Lady remain upon the terrace, Mr. Tulkinghorn 
appears. He comes towards them at his usual 
methodical pace, which is never quickened, never 
slackened. He wears his usual expressionless 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


45 


mask — if it be a mask — and carries family 
secrets in every limb of his body, and every crease 
of his dress. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Tulkinghorn? says Sir 
Leicester, giving him his hand. 

Mr. Tulkinghorn is quite well. Sir Leicester, 
is quite well. My Lady is quite well. All highly 
satisfactory. The lawyer, with his hands behind 
him, walks, at Sir Leicester’s side, along the terrace. 
My Lady walks upon the other side. 

“ We expected you before,” says Sir Leicester. 

“ I should have come down sooner,” he explains, 
“ but that I have been much engaged with those 
matters in the several suits between yourself and 
Boythorn.” 

“ A man of a very ill-regulated mind,” observes 
Sir Leicester, with severity. “ An extremely dan¬ 
gerous person in any community. A man of a 
very low character of mind.” 

A person who, fifty years ago, would probably 
have been tried at the Old Bailey for some dem¬ 
agogue proceeding, and severely punished — if 
not,” adds Sir Leicester, after a moment’s pause, 
“ if not hanged, drawn, and quartered.” 

Sir Leicester appears to discharge his stately 
breast of a burden, in passing this capital sentence; 
as if it were the next satisfactory thing to have 
the sentence executed. 


46 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ But night is coming on,” says he, ‘‘ and my 
Lady will take cold. My dear, let us go in.” 

As they turn towards the hall-door. Lady Ded- 
lock addresses Mr. Tulkinghorn for the first time. 

“ You sent me a message respecting the person 
whose writing I happened to inquire about. It 
was like you to remember the circumstance; I had 
quite forgotten it. Your message reminded me of 
it again. I can’t imagine what association I had 
with a hand like that; but I surely had some.” 

“ You had some? ” Mr. Tulkinghorn repeats. 

“ O yes! ” returns my Lady carelessly. “ I think 
I must have had some. And did you really take 
the trouble to find out the writer of that actual 
thing — what is it! —affidavit? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How very odd! ” 

They pass into a somber breakfast-room on the 
ground floor, lighted in the day by two deep win¬ 
dows. It is now twilight. The fire glows brightly 
on the paneled wall, and palely on the window- 
glass, where, through the cold reflection of the 
blaze, the colder landscape shudders in the wind, 
and a gray mist creeps along: the only traveler be¬ 
sides the waste of clouds. 

My Lady lounges in a great chair in the chimney- 
corner, and Sir Leicester takes another great chair 
opposite. The lawyer stands before the fire, with 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


47 


his hand at arm’s length, shading his face. He 
looks across his arm at my Lady. 

“ Yes,” he says, ‘‘ I inquired about the man, and 
found him. And, what is very strange, I found 
him-” 

“ Not to be any out-of-the-way person, I am 
afraid! ” Lady Dedlock anticipates. 

I found him dead.” 

“O dear me!” remonstrated Sir Leicester. 
Not so much shocked by the fact, as by the fact 
of the fact being mentioned. 

“ I was directed to his lodging — a miserable, 
poverty-stricken place — and I found him dead.” 

“ You will excuse me, Mr. Tulkinghorn,” ob¬ 
serves Sir Leicester. “ I think the less said-” 

“ Pray, Sir Leicester, let me hear the story out ” 
(it is my Lady speaking). ‘‘ It is quite a story 
for twilight. How* very shocking! Dead? ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn re-asserts it by another in¬ 
clination of his head. Whether by his own 
hand-” 

“ Upon my honor! ” cries Sir Leicester. 
‘‘ Really! ” 

“ Do let me hear the story; ” says my Lady. 

“ Whatever you desire, my dear. But, I must 


“ No, you mustn’t say! Go on, Mr. Tulking¬ 
horn.” 






48 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Sir Leicester’s gallantry concedes the point; 
though he still feels that to bring this sort of 
squalor among the upper classes is really — 
really- 

was about to say,” resumes the lawyer, 
with undisturbed calmness, “ that whether he had 
died by his own hand or not, it was beyond my 
power to tell you. I should amend that phrase, 
however, by saying that he had unquestionably 
died of his own act, though whether by his own 
deliberate intention, or by mischance, can never 
certainly be known. The coroner’s jury found that 
he took the poison accidentally.” 

“ And what kind of man,” my Lady asks, “ was 
this deplorable creature? ” 

“ Very difficult to say,” returns th,e lawyer, 
shaking his head. “ He had lived so wretchedly, 
and was so neglected, with his gypsy color, and his 
wild black hair and beard, that I should have con¬ 
sidered him the commonest of the common. The 
surgeon had a notion that he had once been some¬ 
thing better, both in appearance and condition.” 

“ What did they call the wretched being? ” 

“ They called him what he had called himself, 
but no one knew his name.” 

“ Not even anyone who had attended on him? ” 
“ No one had attended on him. He was found 
dead. In fact, I found him.” 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 


49 


“ Without any clew to anything more? ” 

“Without any; there was/’ says the lawyer 
meditatively, “an old portmanteau; but — No, 
there were no papers.” 

During the utterance of every word of this 
short dialogue, Lady Dedlock and Mr. Tulking- 
horn, without any other alteration in their cus¬ 
tomary deportment, have looked very steadily at 
one another — as was natural, perhaps, in the dis¬ 
cussion of so unusual a subject. Sir Leicester has 
looked at the fire, with the general expression of 
the Dedlock on the staircase. The story being 
told, he renews his stately protest, saying, that it 
is quite clear that no association in my Lady’s 
mind can possibly be traceable to this poor wretch 
(unless he was a begging letter writer); he trusts 
to hear no more about a subject so far removed 
from my Lady’s station. 

“ Certainly, a collection of horrors,” says my 
Lady, gathering up her mantles and furs; “ but 
they interest one for the moment! Have the 
kindness, Mr. Tulkinghom, to open the door for 
me.” 

Mr. Tulkinghom does so with deference, and 
holds it open while she passes out. She passes 
close to him, with her usual fatigued manner, and 
insolent grace. They meet again at dinner — 
— again, next day — again for many days in sue- 


50 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


cession. Lady Dedlock is always the same ex¬ 
hausted deity, surrounded by worshipers, and ter¬ 
ribly liable to be bored to death, even while presid¬ 
ing at her own shrine. Mr. Tulkinghorn is always 
the same speechless repository of noble confidences: 
so oddly out of place, and yet so perfectly at home. 
They appear to take as little note of one another, 
as any two people, inclosed within the same walls, 
could. But, whether each evermore watches and 
suspects the other, evermore mistrustful of some 
great reservation; whe^er each is evermore pre¬ 
pared at all points for the other, and never to be 
taken unawares; what each would give to know 
how much the other knows — all this is hidden, 
for the time, in their own hearts. 

^siesl****^* 

My Lady Dedlock is restless, very restless. 
The astonished fashionable intelligence hardly 
knows where to have her. To-day, she is at Ches- 
ney Wold; yesterday she was at her house in 
town; to-morrow, she may be abroad, for anything 
the fashionable intelligence can with confidence 
predict. Even Sir Leicester’s gallantry has some 
trouble to keep pace with her. It would have 
more, but that his other faithful ally, for better and 
for worse — the gout — darts into the oak bed- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 51 

chamber at Chesney Wold, and grips him by both 
legs. 

My Lady is at present represented, near Sir 
Leicester, by her portrait. She has flitted away to 
town, with no intention of remaining there, and 
will soon flit hither again, to the confusion of the 
fashionable intelligence. The house in town is not 
prepared for her reception. It is muffled and 
dreary. Only one Mercury in powder, gapes dis¬ 
consolate at the hall-window; and he mentioned 
last night to another Mercury of his acquaintance, 
also accustomed to good society, that if that sort 
of thing was to last — which it couldn’t, for a man 
of his spirits couldn’t bear it, and a man of his 
figure couldn’t be expected to bear it — there would 
be no resource for him, upon his honor, but to cut 
his throat! 

What connection can there be, betw^een the place 
in Lincolnshire, the house in town, the Mercury in 
powder, and the whereabout of Jo the outlaw with 
the broom, who had that distant ray of light upon 
him when he swept the churchyard-step? What 
connection can there have been between many 
people in the innumerable histories of this world, 
who, from opposite sides of great gulfs, have, 
nevertheless, been very curiously brought to¬ 
gether! 

Jo sweeps his crossing all day long, unconscious 


52 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


of the link, if any link there be. He sums up his 
mental condition, when asked a question, by reply¬ 
ing that he “ don’t know nothink.” He knows 
that it’s hard to keep the mud off the crossing in 
dirty weather, and harder still to live by doing it. 
Nobody taught him even that much; he found it 
out. 

Jo lives — that is to say, Jo has not yet died — 
in a ruinous place, known to the like of him by the 
name of Tom-all-Alone’s. It is a black, dilapidated 
street, avoided by all decent i>eople; where the 
crazy houses were seized upon, when their decay 
was far advanced, by some bold vagrants, who, 
after establishing their own possession, took to 
letting them out in lodgings. 

He goes to his crossing, and begins to lay it out 
for the day. The town awakes. 

The day changes as it wears itself away, and be¬ 
comes dark and drizzly. Jo fights it out, at his 
crossing, among the mud and wheels, the horses, 
whips, and umbrellas, and gets but a scanty sum 
to pay for the unsavory shelter of Tom-all-Alone’s. 
Twilight comes on; gas begins to start up in the 
shops; the lamplighter, with his ladder, runs along 
the margin of the pavement. A wretched evening 
is beginning to close in. 

In his chambers, Mr. Tulkinghorn sits medi¬ 
tating an application to the nearest magistrate to- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


53 


morrow morning for a warrant. Gridley, a dis¬ 
appointed suitor, has been here to-day, and has 
been alarming. We are not to be put in bodily 
fear, and that ill-conditioned fellow shall be held 
to bail again. From the ceiling, fore-shortened 
Allegory, in the person of one impossible Roman 
upside down, points with the arm of Samson (out 
of joint and an odd one) obtrusively towards the 
window. Why should Mr. Tulkinghorn, for no 
such reason, look out of window? Is the hand 
not always pointing there? So he does not look 
out of window. 

And if he did, what would it be to see a woman 
going by? There are women enough in the world. 
Mr. Tulkinghorn thinks — too many; they are at 
the bottom of all that goes wrong in it, though, for 
the matter of that, they create business for lawyers. 
What would it be to see a woman going by, even 
though she were going secretly? They are all 
secret. Mr. Tulkinghorn knows that very well. 

But they are not all like the woman who now 
leaves him and his house behind; between whose 
plain dress, and her refined manner, there is some¬ 
thing exceedingly inconsistent. She should be an 
upper servant by her attire, yet, in her air and 
step, though both are hurried and assumed — as 
far as she can assume in the muddy streets, which 
she treads with an unaccustomed foot — she is a 


54 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


lady. Her face is veiled, and still she sufBciently 
betrays herself to make more than one of those 
who pass her look round sharply. 

She never turns her head. Lady or servant, she 
has a purpose in her, and can follow it. She never 
turns her head, until she comes to the crossing 
where Jo plies with his broom. He crosses with 
her, and begs. Still, she does not turn her head 
until she has landed on the other side. Then, she 
slightly beckons to him, and says Come here! ” 
Jo follows her, a pace or two, into a quiet court. 
“ Are you the boy I’ve read of in the papers? ” 
she asked behind her veil. 

I don’t know,” says Jo, staring moodily at the 
veil, “ nothink about no papers. I don’t know no¬ 
think about nothink, at all.” 

“ Were you examined at an inquest? ” 

“ I don’t know nothink about no — where I was 
took by the beadle, do you mean? ” says Jo. 
“ Was the boy’s name at the inkwhich, Jo? ” 

“ Yes.” 

That’s me! ” says Jo. 

“ Come farther up.” 

“ You mean about the man? ” says Jo, follow¬ 
ing. “ Him as wos dead? ” 

‘‘Hush! Speak in a whisper! Yes. Did he 
look, when he was living, so very ill and poor? ” 

“ O jist! ” says Jo. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 55 

“ Did he look like — not like youV* says the 
woman, with abhorrence. 

“ O not so bad as me,” says Jo. I’m a reg’lar 
one I am! You didn’t know him, did you? ” 

“ How dare you ask me if I knew him? ” 

“No offense, my lady,” says Jo, with much 
humility; for even he has got at the suspicion of 
her being a lady. 

“ I am not a lady. I am a servant.” 

“ You are a jolly servant! ” says Jo; without the 
least idea of saying anything offensive; merely as 
a tribute of admiration. 

“ Listen and be silent. Don’t talk to me, and 
stand farther from me! Can you show me all those 
places that were spoken of in the account I read? 
The place he wrote for, the place he died at, the 
place where you were taken to, the place where he 
was buried? Do you know the place where he was 
buried? ” 

Jo answers with a nod: having also nodded as 
each other place was mentioned. 

“ Go before me and show me all those dreadful 
places. Stop opposite to each, and don’t speak to 
me unless I speak to you. Don’t look back. Do 
what I want, and I will pay you well.” 

Jo attends closely while the words are being 
spoken; tells them off on his broom-handle, find¬ 
ing them rather hard; pauses to consider their 


56 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


meaning; considers it satisfactory, and nods his 
ragged head. 

“ I’m fly,” says Jo. “ But fen larks, you know. 
Stow hooking it! ” 

‘‘ What does the horrible creature mean? ” ex¬ 
claims the servant, recoiling from him. 

“ Stow cutting away, you know! ” says Jo. 

I don’t understand you. Go on before! I will 
give you more money than you ever had in your 
life.” 

Jo screws up his mouth into a whistle, gives his 
ragged head a rub, takes his broom under his arm, 
and leads the way; passing deftly, with his bare 
feet, over the hard stones, and through the mud 
and mire. 

Cook’s Court. Jo stops. A pause. 

“ Who lives here? ” 

“ Him wot give him his writing, and give me 
half a bull,” says Jo, in a whisper, without look¬ 
ing over his shoulder. 

Go on to the next! ” 

Krook’s house. Jo stops again. A longer pause. 

“ Who lives here? ” 

“ He lived here,” Jo answers as before. 

After a silence he is asked, ‘‘ In which room? ” 

“ In the back room up there. You can see the 
winder from this corner. Up there! That’s where 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


57 


I see him stritched out. This is the public ^ouse 
where I was took to.” 

“ Go on to the next! ” 

It was a longer walk to the next; but Jo, relieved 
of his first suspicions, sticks to the forms imposed 
upon him, and does not look round. By many 
devious ways, reeking with offense of many kinds,, 
they come to the little tunnel of a court, and to 
the gas-lamp (lighted now), and to the iron 
gate. 

“ He was put there,” says Jo, holding to the 
bars and looking in. 

“ Where? O, what a scene of horror! ” 

“There!” says Jo, pointing. “Over yinder. 
Among them piles of bones, and close to that there 
kitchin winder! They put him wery nigh the top. 
They was obliged to stamp upon it to get it in. 
I could unkiver it for you with my broom, if the 
gate was open. That^s why they locks it, I s’pose,” 
giving it a shake. “ It’s always locked. Look at 
the rat! ” cries Jo, excited. “Hi! Look! There 
he goes! Ho! Into the ground! ” 

The servant shrinks into a corner — into a corner 
of that hideous archway, with its deadly stains 
contaminating her dress; and putting out her two 
hands, and passionately telling him to keep away 
from her, for he is loathsome to her, so remains for 


58 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

some moments. Jo stands staring, and is still star¬ 
ing when she recovers herself. 

“ Is this place of abomination consecrated 
ground? 

“ I don’t know nothink of consequential 
ground,” says Jo, still staring. 

“ Is it blessed? ” 

“ Which? ” says Jo, in the last degree amazed. 

“Is it blessed? ” 

“ I’m blest if I know,” says Jo, staring more 
than ever; “but I shouldn’t think it warn’t. 
Blest? ” repeats Jo, something troubled in his 
mind. “ It ain’t done it much good if it is. Blest? 
I should think it was t’othered myself. But I don’t 
know nothink! ” 

The servant takes as little heed of what he says, 
as she seems to take of what she has said herself. 
She draws off her glove, to get some money from 
her purse. Jo silently notices how white and small 
her hand is, and what a jolly servant she must be 
to wear such sparkling rings. 

She drops a piece of money in his hand, without 
touching it, and shuddering as their hands ap¬ 
proach. “ Now,” she adds, “ show me the spot 
again! ” 

Jo thrusts the handle of his broom between the 
bars of the gate, and, with his utmost power of 
elaboration, points it out. At length, looking aside 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


59 


to see if he has made himself intelligible, he finds 
that he is alone. 

His first proceeding, is, to hold the piece of 
money to the gas-light, and to be overpowered at 
finding that it is yellow — gold. His next, is, to 
give it a one-sided bite at the edge, as a test of its 
quality. His next, to put it in his mouth for 
safety, and to sweep the step and passage with 
great care. His job done, he sets off for Tom-all- 
Alone’s; stopping in the light of innumerable gas- 
lamps to produce the piece of gold, and give it 
another one-sided bite, as a reassurance of its be¬ 
ing genuine. 

The Mercury in powder is in no want of society 
to-night, for my Lady goes to a grand dinner, and 
three or four balls. Sir Leicester is fidgety, down 
at Chesney Wold, with no better company than 
the gout; he complains to Mrs. Rouncewell that the 
rain makes such a monotonous pattering on the 
terrace, that he can’t read the paper, even by the 
fireside in his own snug dressing-room. 

“ Sir Leicester would have done better to try the 
other side of the house, my dear,” says Mrs. 
Rouncewell to Rosa. “ His dressing-room is on 
my Lady’s side. And in all these years I never 
heard the step upon the Ghost’s Walk, more dis¬ 
tinct than it is to-night! ” 


6o 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


It is the long vacation in the regions of Chan¬ 
cery Lane. The good ships Law and Equity, those 
teak-built, copper-bottomed, iron-fastened, brazen¬ 
faced, and not by any means fast-sailing Clippers, 
are laid up in ordinary. The Courts are all shut 
up; the public offices lie in a hot sleep; West¬ 
minster Hall itself is a shady solitude where night¬ 
ingales might sing, and a tenderer class of suitors 
than is usually found there, walk. 

Over all the legal neighborhood, there hangs, 
like some great veil of rust, or gigantic cobweb, 
the idleness and pensiveness of the long vacation. 
Mr. Snagsby, law-stationer of Cook’s Court, Cur- 
sitor Street, is sensible of the influence; not only in 
his mind as a sympathetic and contemplative man, 
but also in his business as a law-stationer afore¬ 
said. 

Being wanted in the shop, Mr. Snagsby de¬ 
scends, and finds his two ’prentices intently con¬ 
templating a police constable, who holds a ragged 
boy by the arm. 

“ Why, bless my heart,” says Mr. Snagsby, 
“ what’s the matter? ” 

“ This boy,” says the constable, “ although he’s 
repeatedly told to, won’t move on-” 

“ I’m always a-moving on, sir,” cries the boy, 
wiping away his grimy tears with his arm. “ I’ve 
always been a-moving and a-moving on, ever since 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 6i 

I was born. Where can I possibly move to, sir, 
more nor I do move! ” 

“ He won’t move on,” says the constable, calmly, 
with a slight professional hitch of his neck involv¬ 
ing its better settlement in his stiff stock, “ al¬ 
though he has been repeatedly cautioned, and there¬ 
fore I am obliged to take him into custody. He’s 
as obstinate a young gonoph as I know. He won’t 
move on.” 

O my eye! Where can I move to?” cries 
the boy clutching quite desperately at his hair, and 
beating his bare feet upon the floor of Mr. Snags- 
by’s passage. 

“ Don’t you come none of that, or I shall make 
blessed short work of you! ” says the constable, 
giving him a passionless shake. “ My instructions 
are, that you are to move on. I have told you so 
five hundred times.” 

“ But where? ” cries the boy. 

“ Well! Really, constable, you know,” says Mr. 
Snagsby, wistfully, and coughing behind his hand 
his cough of great perplexity and doubt; “really 
that does seem a question. Where, you know? ” 

“ My instructions don’t go to that,” replies the 
constable. 

“My instructions are that this boy is to move 
on.” 

Mr. Snagsby says nothing at all, but coughs his 


62 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

forlornest cough, expressive of no thoroughfare in 
any direction. By this time Mrs. Snagsby, hear¬ 
ing the altercation, has appeared upon the stairs. 

“ The simple question is, sir,” says the constable, 
“ whether you know this boy. He says you do.” 

Mrs. Snagsby, from her elevation instantly cries 
out, “ No, he don’t! ” 

“ My little woman! ” says Mr. Snagsby, looking 
up the staircase. “ My love, permit me! Pray 
have a moment’s patience, my dear. I do know 
something of this lad, , and in what I know of him, 
I can’t say that there’s any harm; perhaps on the 
contrary, constable.” To whom the law-stationer 
relates his Joful and woful experience, suppressing 
the half-crown fact. 

“Well! ” says the constable, “so far, it seems, 
he had grounds for what he said. When I took 
him into custody up in Holborn, he said you knew 
him. Upon that, a young man who was in the 
crowd said he was acquainted with you, and you 
were a respectable housekeeper, and if I’d call and 
make the inquiry, he’d appear. The young man 
don’t seem inclined to keep his word, but — Oh! 
Here is the young man! ” 

Enter Mr. Guppy, who nods to Mr. Snagsby, and 
touches his hat with the chivalry of clerkship to 
the ladies on the stairs. 

“ I was strolling away from the office just now. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


63 

when I found this row going on/^ says Mr. Guppy 
to the law-stationer; and as your name was men¬ 
tioned, I thought it was right the thing should be 
looked into.” 

“ It was very good-natured of you, sir,” says 
Mr. Snagsby, “ and I am obliged to you.” And 
Mr. Snagsby again relates his experience, again 
suppressing the half-crown fact. 

“ Now, I know where you live,” says the con¬ 
stable, then, to Jo. “ You live down in Tom-all- 
Alone’s. That’s a nice innocent place to live in, 
ain’t it? ” 

“I can’t go and live in no nicer place, sir,” 
replies Jo. “ They wouldn’t have nothink to say 
to me if I wos to go to a nice innocent place fur 
to live. Who ud go and let a nice innocent lodging 
to such a regular one as me? ” 

“ You are very poor, ain’t you? ” says the con¬ 
stable. 

“ Yes, I am indeed, sir, wery poor in gin’ral,” 
replies Jo. 

I leave you to judge now! I shook these two 
half-crowns out of him,” says the constable, pro¬ 
ducing them to the company, in only putting my 
hand upon him! ” 

“ They’re wot’s left, Mr. Snagsby,” says Jo, 
“ out of a sov’ring as wos give me by a lady in a 
wale as sed she was a servant and as come to my 


64 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


crossin one night and asked to be showed this ’ere 
ouse and the ouse wot him as you giv the writin to 
died at, and the berrin-ground wot he’s berrid in. 
She ses to me she ses ^ are you the boy lat 
Inkwhich? ’ she ses. I ses ‘yes’ I ses. She 
ses to me she ses ‘ can you show me all them 
places? ’ I ses ‘ yes I can ’ I ses. And she ses to 
me ‘ do it ’ and I dun it and she give me a sov’ring 
and hooked it. And I ain’t had much of the sov’¬ 
ring neither,” says Jo, with dirty tears, “ fur I had 
to pay five bob, down in Tom-all-Alone’s, afore 
they’d square it fur to give me change, and then 
a young man he thieved another five while I was 
asleep and another boy he thieved ninepence and 
the landlord he stood drains round with a lot more 
on it.” 

“You don’t expect anybody to believe this, 
about the lady and the sovereign, do you? ” says 
the constable, eyeing him aside with ineffable dis¬ 
dain. 

“ I don’t know as I do, sir,” replies Jo. “ I don’t 
expect nothink at all, sir, much, but that’s the true 
hist’ry on it.” 

“You see what he is! ” the constable observes 
to the audience. “ Well, Mr. Snagsby, if I don’t 
lock him up this time, will you engage for his 
moving on? ” 

“ No! ” cries Mrs. Snagsby from the stairs. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


65 

My little woman! ” pleads her husband. 
“ Constable, I have no doubt he’ll move on. You 
know you really must do it,” says Mr. Snagsby. 

“ I’m everyways agreeable, sir,” says the hapless 
Jo. 

“ Do it, then,” observes the constable, “ You 
know what you have got to do. Do it! And rec¬ 
ollect you won’t get off so easy next time. Catch 
hold of yoiu* money. Now, the sooner you’re five 
mile off, the better for all parties.” 

With this farewell hint, and pointing generally 
to the setting sun, as a likely place to move on to, 
the constable bids his auditors good afternoon; and 
makes the echoes of Cook’s Court perform slow 
music for him as he walks away on the shady side, 
carrying his iron-bound hat in his hand for a little 
ventilation. 

Now, Jo’s improbable story concerning the lady 
and the sovereign has awakened more or less the 
curiosity of all the company. Mr. Guppy, who 
has an inquiring mind in matters of evidence, and 
who has been suffering severely from the lassitude 
of the long vacation, takes that interest in the case, 
that he enters on a regular cross-examination of the 
witness, which is found so interesting by the ladies 
that Mrs. Snagsby politely invites him to step up¬ 
stairs, and drink a cup of tea, if he will excuse the 
disarranged state of the tea-table, consequent on 


66 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


their previous exertions. Mr. Guppy yielding his 
assent to this proposal, Jo is requested to follow 
into the drawing-room doorway, where Mr. Guppy 
takes him in hand as a witness, patting him 
into this shape, that shape, and the other shape, 
like a butterman dealing with so much butter, 
and worrying him according to the best models. 
Nor is the examination unlike many such model 
displays, both in respect of its eliciting nothing 
and of its being lengthy; for, Mr. Guppy is sensi¬ 
ble of his talent, and Mrs. Snagsby feels, not only 
that it gratifies her inquisitive disposition, but 
that it lifts her husband’s establishment higher up 
in the law. 

Well! ” says Mr. Guppy, “ either this boy 
sticl^ to it like cobbler’s-wax, or there is some¬ 
thing out of the common here that beats anything 
that ever came into my way at Kenge and Car¬ 
boy’s.” 

Jo, whose immediate object seems to be to get 
away on any terms, gives a shuffling nod. Mr. 
Guppy then throws him a penny, and Mrs. Snagsby 
calls to Guster to see him safely out of the house. 
But, before he goes downstairs, Mr. Snagsby loads 
him with some broken meats from the table, which 
he carries away, hugging in his arms. 

Jo moves on, through the long vacation, down 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 67 

to Blackfriars Bridge, where he finds a baking 
stony corner, wherein to settle to his repast. 

And there he sits, munching and gnawing, and 
looking up at the great Cross on the summit of St. 
PauPs Cathedral, glittering above a red and violet- 
tinted cloud of smoke. From the boy’s face one 
might suppose that sacred emblem to be, in his 
eyes, the crowning confusion of the great, con¬ 
fused city; so golden, so high up, so far out of his 
reach. There he sits, the sun going down, the 
river running fast, the crowd flowing by him in 
two streams — everything moving on to some pur¬ 
pose and to one end — until he is stirred up, and 
told to “ move on ” too. 

In Lincoln’s Inn Fields the evening is hot; both 
Mr. Tulkinghorn’s windows are wide open, and the 
room is lofty, gusty, and gloomy. These may not 
be desirable characteristics when November comes 
with fog and sleet, or January with ice and snow; 
but they have their merits in the sultry long vaca¬ 
tion weather. 

Plenty of dust comes in at Mr. Tulkinghorn’s 
windows, and plenty more has generated among his 
furniture and papers. It lies thick everywhere. 

In his towering magazine of dust, the universal 


68 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


article into which his papers and himself^ and all 
his clients, and all things of earth, animate and 
inanimate, are resolving, Mr. Tulkinghorn sits at 
one of the open windows, enjoying a bottle of old 
port. Though a hard-grained man, close, dry, and 
silent, he can enjoy old wine with the best. He 
has a priceless binn of port in some artful cellar 
under the Fields, which is one of his many secrets. 
When he dines alone in chambers, as he has dined 
to-day, and has his bit of fish and his steak or 
chicken brought in from the coffee-house, he de¬ 
scends with a candle to the echoing regions below 
the deserted mansion, and, heralded by a remote 
reverberation of thundering doors, comes gravely 
back, encircled by an earthy atmosphere, and 
carrying a bottle from which he pours a radiant 
nectar, two score and ten years old, that blushes in 
the glass to find itself so famous, and fills the 
whole room with the fragrance of southern grapes. 

Mr. Tulkinghorn, sitting in the twilight by the 
open window, enjoys his wine. As if it whispered 
to him of its fifty years of silence and seclusion, it 
shuts him up the closer. More impenetrable than 
ever, he sits and drinks, and mellows, as it were, 
in secrecy; pondering, at that twilight hour, on all 
the mysteries he knows, associated with darkening 
woods in the country, and vast blank shut-up 
houses in town; and perhaps sparing a thought 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


69 

or two for himself, and his family history, and his 
money, and his will — all a mystery to everyone 
— and that one bachelor friend of his, a man of 
the same mould and a lawyer, too, who lived the 
same kind of life until he was seventy-five years 
old, and then, suddenly conceiving (as it is sup¬ 
posed) an impression that it was too monotonous, 
gave his gold watch to his hair dresser one sum¬ 
mer evening, and walked leisurely home to the 
Temple, and hanged himself. 

But, Mr. Tulkinghorn is not alone to-night, to 
ponder at his usual length. Seated at the same 
table, though with his chair modestly and uncom¬ 
fortably drawn a little way from it, sits a bald, 
mild, shining man, who coughs respectfully behind 
his hand when the lawyer bids him fill his glass. 

“ Now, Snagsby,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “ to go 
over this odd story again.” 

“ If you please, sir.” 

You told me when you were so good as to 

step round here, last night-” 

“ For which I must ask you to excuse me if it 
was a liberty, sir; but I remember that you had 
taken a sort of an interest in that person, and I 
thought it possible that you might — just — wish 


Mr. Tulkinghorn is not the man to help him to 
any conclusion, or to admit anything as to any pos- 




70 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


sibility concerning himself. So Mr. Snagsby trails 
off into saying, with an awkward cough, “ I must 
ask you to excuse the liberty, sir, I am sure.^’ 

“ Not at all,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn. “ You told 
me, Snagsby, that you put on your hat and came 
round without mentioning your intention to your 
wife. That was prudent, I think, because it’s not 
a matter of such importance that it requires to be 
mentioned.” 

“ Well, sir,” returns Mr. Snagsby, “ you see my 
little woman is — not to put too fine a point upon 
it — inquisitive. She’s inquisitive. Poor little 
thing, she’s liable to spasms, and it’s good for her 
to have her mind employed. In consequence of 
which she employs it — I should say upon every in¬ 
dividual thing she can lay hold of, whether it con¬ 
cerns her or not — especially not. My little woman 
has a very active mind, sir.” 

Mr. Snagsby drinks, and murmurs with an ad¬ 
miring cough behind his hand, “ Dear me, very 
fine wine, indeed. ” 

“ Therefore you kept your visit to yourself, last 
night? ” says Mr. Tulkinghorn. And to-night, 
too? ” 

“ Yes, sir, and to-night, too.” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn assents. “ Fill your glass, 
Snagsby.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I am sure,” returns the sta- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


71 

tioner, with his cough of deference. “ This is won¬ 
derfully fine wine, sir! ” 

“ Will you run over, once again, what the boy 
said? ” asks Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting his hands 
into the pockets of his rusty smallclothes and 
leaning quietly back in his chair. 

“ With pleasure, sir.’^ 

Then, with fidelity, though with some prolixity, 
the law-stationer repeats Jo’s statement made to 
those assembled at his house. On coming to the 
end of his narrative, he gives a great start, and 
breaks off with — “ Dear me, sir, I wasn’t aware 
there was any other gentleman present! ” 

Mr Snagsby is dismayed to see, standing with 
an attentive face between himself and the lawyer, 
at a little distance from the table, a person with a 
hat and stick in his hand, who was not there when 
he himself came in, and has not since entered by 
the door or by^ either of the windows. There is a 
press in the room, but its hinges have not creaked, 
nor has a step been audible upon the floor. Yet 
this third person stands there, with his attentive 
face, and his hat and stick in his hands, and his 
hands behind him, a composed and quiet listener. 
He is a stoutly built, steady-looking, sharp-eyed 
man in black,^of about the middle-age. Except 
that he looks at Mr. Snagsby as if he were going 
to take his portrait, there is nothing remarkable 


72 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


about him at first sight but his ghostly manner of 
appearing. 

“ Don’t mind this gentleman,” says Mr. Tul- 
kinghorn, in his quiet way. “ This is only Mr. 
Bucket.” 

“ O indeed, sir? ” returns the stationer, express¬ 
ing by a cough that he is quite in the dark as to 
who Mr. Bucket may be. 

I wanted him to hear this story,” says the 
lawyer, “ because I have half a mind (for a reason) 
to know more of it, and he is very intelligent in 
such things. What do you say to this. Bucket? ” 

It’s very plain, sir. Since our people have 
moved this boy on, and he’s not to be found on 
his old lay, if Mr. Snagsby don’t object to go down 
with me to Tom-all-Alone’s and point him out, we 
can have him here in less than a couple of hours’ 
time. I can do it without Mr. Snagsby, of course; 
but this is the shortest way.” 

“ Mr. Bucket is a detective officer, Snagsby,” 
says the lawyer in explanation. 

“ Is he, indeed, sir? ” says Mr. Snagsby, with a 
strong tendency in his clump of hair to stand on 
end. 

And if you have no real objection to accom¬ 
pany Mr. Bucket to the place in question,” pursues 
the lawyer, “ I shall feel obiged to you if you will 
do so.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


73 


In a moment’s hesitation on the part of Mr. 
Snagsby, Bucket dips down to the bottom of his 
mind. 

Don’t you be afraid of hurting the boy,” he 
says. You won’t do that. It’s all right as far as 
the boy’s concerned. We shall only bring him 
here to ask him a question or so I want to 
put to him, and he’ll be paid for his trouble, and 
sent away again. It’ll be a good job for him. I 
promise you, as a man, that you shall see the boy 
sent away all right. Don’t you be afraid of hurt¬ 
ing him; you ain’t going to do that.” 

Very well, Mr. Tulkinghorn! ” cries Mr. Snags¬ 
by cheerfully, and reassured, “ since that’s the 
case-” 

Yes! and lookee here, Mr. Snagsby,” resumes 
Bucket, taking him aside by the arm, tapping him 
familiarly on the breast, and speaking in a confi¬ 
dential tone. “ You’re a man of the world, you 
know, and a man of business, and a man of sense. 
That’s what you are.” 

“ I am sure I am much obliged to you for your 
good opinion,” returns the stationer, with his cough 

of modesty, “ but-” 

“ That’s what you are, you know,” says Bucket. 
“ Now, it ain’t necessary to say to a man like you, 
engaged in your business, which is a business of 
trust and requires a person to be wide awake and 




74 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


have his senses about him, and his head screwed 
on tight (I had an uncle in your business once) 
— it ain’t necessary to say to a man like you, that 
it’s the best and wisest way to keep little matters 
like this quiet. Don’t you see? Quiet! ” 

Certainly, certainly,” returns the other. 

I don’t mind telling you/* says Bucket, with 
an engaging appearance of frankness, “ that as far 
as I can understand it, there seems to be a doubt 
whether this dead person wasn’t entitled to a little 
property, and whether this female hasn’t been up 
to some games respecting that property, don’t you 
see? ” 

^‘O! ” says Mr. Snagsby, but not appearing to 
see quite distinctly. 

“ Now, what you want,” pursues Bucket, again, 
tapping Mr. Snagsby on the breast in a comfort¬ 
able and soothing manner, is, that person should 
have their rights according to justice. That’s what 
you want.” 

“ To be sure,” returns Mr. Snagsby, with a nod. 

On account of which, and at the same time to 
oblige a — do you call it, in your business, cus¬ 
tomer or client? I forget how my uncle used to 
call it.” 

Why, I generally say customer myself,” replies 
Mr. Snagsby. 

^‘You’re right! ” returns Mr. Bucket, shaking 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


75 


hands with him quite affectionately, — “ on account 
of which, and at the same time to oblige a real 
good customer, you mean to go down with me, in 
confidence, to Tom-all-Alone’s, and to keep the 
whole thing quiet ever afterwards and never men¬ 
tion it to anyone. That’s about your intentions, 
if I understand you? ” 

You are right, sir. You are right,” says Mr. 
Snagsby. 

“ Then here’s your hat,” returns his new friend, 
quite as intimate with it as if he had made it; 
“ and if you’re ready, I am.” 

They leave Mr. Tulkinghorn, without a ruffle on 
the surface of his unfathomable depths, drinking 
his old wine, and go down into the streets. 

“ You don’t happen to know a very good sort o 
person of the name of Gridley, do you? ” say* 
Bucket, in a friendly converse as they descended 
the stairs. 

“ No,” says Mr. Snagsby, considering, “ I don’t 
know anybody of that name. Why? ” 

^‘Nothing particular,” says Bucket; “ only, hav¬ 
ing allowed his temper to get a trifle the better of 
him, and having been threatening some respectable 
people, he is keeping out of the way of a warrant 
I have got against him — which it’s a pity that a 
man of sense should do.” 

As they walk along, Mr. Snagsby observes, as a 


76 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


novelty, that, however quick their pace may be, his 
companion still seems in some undefinable manner 
to lurk and lounge; also, that whenever he is go¬ 
ing to turn to the right or left, he pretends to have 
a fixed purpose in his mind of going straight ahead, 
and wheels off, sharply, at the very last moment. 
Now and then, when they pass a police-constable on 
his beat, Mr. Snagsby notices that both the con¬ 
stable and his guide fall into a deep abstraction 
as they come towards each other, and appear en¬ 
tirely to overlook each other, and to gaze into 
space. In a few instances, Mr. Bucket coming 
behind some under-sized young man with a shin¬ 
ing hat on, and his sleek hair twisted into one flat 
curl on each side of his head, almost without 
glancing at him touches him with his stick; upon 
which the young man, looking round, instantly 
evaporates. For the most part Mr. Bucket notices 
things in general, with a face as unchanging as 
the great mourning ring on his little finger, or the 
brooch, composed of not much diamond and a good 
deal of setting, which he wears in his shirt. 

When they come at last to Tom-all-Alone’s, Mr. 
Bucket stops for a moment at the corner, and takes 
a lighted bulPs-eye from the constable on duty 
there, who then accompanies him with his own 
particular bull’s-eye at his waist. Between his 
two conductors, Mr. Snagsby passes along the 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


77 

middle of a villainous street, undrained, unventi¬ 
lated, deep in black mud and corrupt water — 
though the roads are dry elsewhere — and reeking 
with such smells and sights that he, who has lived 
in London all his life, can scarce believe his senses. 
Branching from this street and its heaps of ruins, 
are other streets and courts so infamous that Mr. 
Snagsby sickens in body and mind, and feels as 
if he were going, every moment deeper down, into 
the infernal gulf. 

“ Draw off a bit here, Mr. Snagsby,” says 
Bucket, as a kind of shabby palanquin is borne to¬ 
wards them, surrounded by a noisy crowd. 

Here’s the fever coming up the street! ” 

As the unseen wretch goes by, the crowd, leav¬ 
ing that object of attraction, hovers round the three 
visitors, like a dream of horrible faces, and fades 
away up alleys and into ruins, and behind walls; 
and with occasional cries and shrill whistles of 
warning, thenceforth flits about them till they 
leave the place. 

“ Are those the fever-houses. Darby? ” Mr. 
Bucket coolly asks, as he turns his bulBs-eye on 
a line of stinking ruins. 

Darby replies that all them are,” and further 
that in all, for months and months, the people 
“ have been down by dozens,” and have been 
carried out, dead and dying “ like sheep with the 


78 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

rot.’^ Bucket observing to Mr. Snagsby as they 
go on again, that he looks a little poorly, Mr. 
Snagsby answers that he feels as if he couldn’t 
breathe the dreadful air. 

There is inquiry made, at various houses, for a 
boy named Jo. As few people are known in Tom- 
all-Alone’s by any Christian sign, there is much 
reference to Mr. Snagsby whether he means Car¬ 
rots, or the Colonel, or Gallows, or Young Chisel, 
or Terrier Tip, or Lanky, or the Brick. Mr. 
Snagsby describes over and over again. There 
are conflicting opinions respecting the original of 
his picture. Some think it must be Carrots; some 
say the Brick. The Colonel is produced, but is 
not at all near the thing. Whenever Mr. Snagsby 
and his conductors are stationary, the crowd flows 
round, and from its squalid depths obsequious ad¬ 
vice heaves up to Mr. Bucket. Whenever they 
move, and the angry bull’s-eyes glare, it fades 
away, and flits about them up the alleys, and in 
the ruins, and behind the walls, as before. 

At last there is a lair found out where Toughy, 
or the Tough Subject, lays him down at night; 
and it is thought that the Tough Subject may be 
Jo. Comparison of notes between Mr. Snagsby and 
the proprietress of the house — a drunken face 
tied up in a black bundle, and flaring out of a 
heap of rags on the floor of a dog hutch which is 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


79 

her private apartment — leads to the establish¬ 
ment of this conclusion. Toughy has gone to the 
Doctor’s to get a bottle of stuff for a sick woman, 
but will be here anon. 

“ That’s Jo,” says Mr. Snagsby. 

Jo stands amazed in the disk of light, like a 
ragged figure in a magic-lantern, trembling to think 
that he has offended against the law in not having 
moved on far enough. Mr. Snagsby, however, giv¬ 
ing him the consolatory assurance, “ It’s only a 
job you will be paid for, Jo,” he recovers; and, on 
being taken outside by Mr. Bucket for a little 
private confabulation, tells his tale satisfactorily, 
though out of breath. 

“ I have squared it with the lad,” says Mr. 
Bucket, returning, “ and it’s all right. Now, Mr. 
Snagsby, we’re ready for you.” 

First, Jo has to complete his errand of good¬ 
nature by handing over the physic he has been 
to get, which he delivers with the laconic verbal 
direction that “ it’s to be all took d’rectly.” 
Second, Mr. Snagsby has to lay upon the table 
half-a-crown, his usual panacea for an immense 
variety of afflictions. Thirdly, Mr. Bucket has 
to take Jo by the arm a little above the elbow and 
walk him on before him; without which observance, 
neither the Tough Subject nor any other Subject 
could be professionally conducted to Lincoln’s Inn 


8o 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Fields. These arrangements completed, they give 
the woman good night, and come out once more 
into black and foul Tom-all-Alone’s. 

By the noisome ways through which they de¬ 
scended into that pit, they gradually emerge from 
it; the crowd flitting, and whistling, and skulking 
about them, until they come to the verge, where 
restoration of the bull’s eye is made to Darby. 
Here, the crowd like a concourse of imprisoned 
demons, turns back, yelling, and is seen no more. 
Through the clearer and fresher streets, never so 
clear and fresh to Mr. Snagsby’s mind as now, they 
walk and ride, until they come to Mr. Tulking- 
horn’s gate. 

As they ascend the dim stairs (Mr. Tulking- 
horn’s chambers being on the first floor), Mr. 
Bucket mentions that he has the key of the outer 
door in his pocket, and that there is no need to 
ring. For a man so expert in most things of that 
kind. Bucket takes time to open the door, and 
makes some noise too. It may be that he sounds a 
note of preparation. 

Howbeit, they come at last into the hall, where 
a lamp is burning, and so into Mr. Tulkinghorn’s 
usual room — the room where he drank his old 
wine to-night. He is not there, but his two old- 
fashioned candlesticks are; and the room is toler¬ 
ably light. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 8i 

Mr. Bucket, still having his professional hold of 
Jo, and appearing to Mr. Snagsby to possess an 
unlimited number of eyes, makes a little way into 
this room, when Jo starts and stops. 

“ What’s the matter? ” said Bucket in a whisper. 

“ There she is! ” cried Jo. 

‘‘ Who? ” 

“ The lady! ” 

A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the 
middle of the room, where the light falls upon it. 
It is quite still, and silent. The front of the figure 
is towards them, but it takes no notice of their en¬ 
trance, and remains like a statue. 

“ Now, tell me,” says Bucket aloud, “ how you 
know that to be the lady.” 

“ I know the wale,” replies Jo, staring, “ and 
the bonnet, and the gownd.” 

“ Be quite sure what you say. Tough,” returns 
Bucket, narrowly observant of him. “ Look 
again.” 

“ I am a-looking as hard as ever I can look,” 
says Jo, with starting eyes, and that there’s the 
wale, the bonnet, and the gownd.” 

“ What about those rings you told me of? ” asks 
Bucket. 

“ A-sparkling all over here,” says Jo, rubbing the 
fingers of his left hand on the knuckles of his right, 
without taking his eyes from the figure. 


82 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

The figure removes the right-hand glove, and 
shows the hand. 

“ Now, what do you say to that? ” asks 
Bucket. 

Jo shakes his head. Not rings a bit like them. 
Not a hand like that.” 

What are you talking of? ” says Bucket; evi¬ 
dently pleased though, and well pleased too. 

Hand was a deal whiter, a deal delicater, and 
a deal smaller,” returns Jo. 

“ Why, you’ll tell me I’m my own mother next,” 
says Mr. Bucket. “ Do you recollect the lady’s 
voice? ” 

“ I think I does,” says Jo. 

The figure speaks. “Was it all like this? I 
will speak as long as you like if you are not sure. 
Was it this voice, or at all like this voice? ” 

Jo looks aghast at Mr. Bucket. “ Not a 
bit! ” 

“ Then, what,” retorts that worthy, pointing to 
the figure, “ did you say it was the lady for? ” 

“ Cos,” says Jo, with a perplexed stare, but with¬ 
out being at all shaken in his certainty, “ cos that 
there’s the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd. It is 
her and it an’t her. It a’nt her hand, nor yet 
her rings, nor yet her woice. But that there’s the 
wale, the bonnet, and the gownd, and they’re 
wore the same way wot she wore ’em, and it’s her 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 83 

height wot she wos, and she giv me a sov^-ring and 
hooked it.” 

“ Well! ” says Mr. Bucket, slightly, we haven’t 
got much good out of you. But, however, here’s 
five shillings for you. Take care how you spend 
it, and don’t get yourself into trouble.” Bucket 
stealthily tells the coins from one hand into the 
other like counters — which is a way he has, his 
principal use of them being in these games of skill 
— and then puts them, in a little pile, into the 
boy’s hand, and takes him out to the door; leav¬ 
ing Mr. Snagsby, not by any means comfortable 
under these mysterious circumstances, alone with 
the veiled figure. But on Mr. Tulkinghorn’s com¬ 
ing into the room, the veil is raised, and a suffi¬ 
ciently good-looking Frenchwoman is revealed, 
though her expression is something of the in- 
tensest. 

“ Thank you. Mademoiselle Hortense,” says Mr. 
Tulkinghom, with his usual equanimity. I will 
give you no further trouble about this little wager.” 

You will do me the kindness to remember, sir, 
that I am not at present placed? ” says Made¬ 
moiselle.” 

Certainly, certainly! ” 

And to confer upon me the favor of your dis¬ 
tinguished recommendation? ” 

“ By all means. Mademoiselle Hortense.” 


84 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ A word from Mr. Tulkinghorn is so powerful.” 
—“ It shall not be wanting, Mademoiselle.”— 
“ Receive the assurance of my devoted gratitude, 
dear sir.”— “ Good-night.” Mademoiselle goes out 
with an air of native gentility; and Mr. Bucket, to 
whom it is, on an emergency, as natural to be 
groom of the ceremonies as it is to be anything else, 
shows her downstairs, not without gallantry. 

“ Well, Bucket? ” quoth Mr. Tulkinghorn, on 
his return. 

“ It’s all squared, you see, as I squared it my¬ 
self, sir. There an’t a doubt that it was the other 
one with this one’s dress on. The boy was exact 
respecting colors and everything. Mr. Snagsby, I 
promised you as a man that he should be sent 
away all right. Don’t say it wasn’t done! ” 

“ You have kept your word, sir,” returns the 
stationer; ‘‘and if I can be of no further use, Mr. 
Tulkinghorn, I think, as my little woman will be 
getting anxious-” 

“ Thank you, Snagsby, no further use,” says 
Mr. Tulkinghorn. “ I am quite indebted to you 
for the trouble you have taken already.” 

“ Not at all, sir. I wish you good-night.” 

“ You see, Mr. Snagsby,” says Mr. Bucket, 
accompanying him to the door, and shaking hands 
with him over and over again, “ what I like 
in you is, that you’re a man it’s of no use pump- 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 


85 

ing; that^s what you are. When you know you 
have done a right thing, you put it away, and it’s 
done with and gone, and there’s an end of it. 
That’s what you do.” 

“ That is certainly what I endeavor to do, sir,” 
returns Mr. Snagsby. 

“ No, you don’t do yourself justice. It an’t what 
you endeavor to do,” says Mr. Bucket, shaking 
hands with him and blessing him in the tenderest 
manner, “ it’s what you do. That’s what I esti¬ 
mate in a man in your way of business.” 

Mr. Snagsby makes a suitable response; and 
goes homeward so confused by the events of the 
evening, that he is doubtful of his being awake and 
out — doubtful of the reality of the streets through 
which he goes — doubtful of the reality of the 
moon that shines above him. He is presently re¬ 
assured on these subjects, by the unchallengeable 
reality of Mrs. Snagsby, sitting up with her head 
in a perfect bee-hive of curl-papers and nightcap; 
who has dispatched Guster to the police-station 
with official intelligence of her husband’s being 
made away with, and who, within the last two 
hours, has passed through every stage of swoon¬ 
ing with the greatest decorum. But, as the little 
woman feelingly says, many thanks she gets for 
it! 


86 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


The London season comes to a sudden end and 
Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold, 
foresees, though no instructions have yet come 
down, that the family may shortly be expected. 
Hence the stately old dame, taking Time by the 
forelock, leads him up and down the staircases, 
and along the galleries and passages, and through 
the rooms, to witness before he grows any older 
that everything is ready; that floors are rubbed 
bright, carpets spread, curtains shaken out, beds 
puffed and patted, still-room and kitchen cleared 
for action, — all things prepared as beseems the 
Dedlock dignity. 

Of all the shadows in Chesney Wold, the shadow 
in the long drawing-room upon my lady’s picture 
is the first to come, the last to be disturbed. At 
this hour and by this light it changes into a threat¬ 
ening hand raised up, and menacing the handsome 
face with every breath that stirs. 

She is not well, ma’am,” says a groom in Mrs. 
Rouncewell’s audience-chamber. 

‘‘My Lady not well! What’s the matter?” 

“Why, my Lady has been but poorly, ma’am, 
since she was last here — I don’t mean with the 
family, ma’am, but when she was here as a 
bird of passage-like. My Lady has not been 
out much for her, and has kept her room a good 
deal.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


87 


“Chesney Wold, Thomas,” rejoins the house¬ 
keeper, with proud complacency, “ will set my 
Lady up! There is no finer air, and no healthier 
soil, in the world! ” 

Thomas may have his own personal opinions on 
this subject; probably hints them, in his manner 
of smoothing his sleek head from the nape of his 
neck to his temples; but he forbears to express 
them further, and retires to the servants^ hall to 
regale on cold meat-pie and ale. 

This groom is the pilot-fish before the nobler 
shark. Next evening, down come Sir Leicester and 
my Lady with their largest retinue, and down come 
the cousins and others from all the points of the 
compass. 

My Lady takes no great pains to entertain the 
numerous guests, and, being still unwell, rarely ap¬ 
pears until late in the day. But, at all the dismal 
dinners, leaden lunches, basilisk balls, and other 
melancholy pageants, her mere appearance is a re¬ 
lief. As to Sir Leicester, he conceives it utterly 
impossible that anything can be wanting, in any 
direction, by anyone who has the good fortune to 
be received under that roof; and in a state of sub¬ 
lime satisfaction, he moves among the company, a 
magnificent refrigerator. 

Mercury in attendance with coffee informs Sir 
Leicester, hereupon, that Mr. Tulkinghorn has ar- 


88 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


rived, and has taken dinner. My Lady turns her 
head inward for the moment, then looks out again 
as before. 

Cousin Volumnia is charmed to hear that her 
Delight is come. He is so original, such a stolid 
creature, such an immense being for knowing all 
sorts of things and never telling them! Volumnia 
is persuaded that he must be a Freemason. Is 
sure he is at the head of a lodge, wears short 
aprons, and is made a perfect Idol of, with candle¬ 
sticks and trowels. These lively remarks the fair 
Dedlock delivers in her youthful manner, while 
making a purse. 

“ He has not been here once,” she adds, “ since 
I came. I really had some thoughts of breaking 
my heart for the inconstant creature. I had al¬ 
most made up mind that he was dead.” 

It may be the gathering gloom of evening, or it 
may be the darker gloom within herself, but a 
shade is on my Lady’s face, as if she thought, “ I 
would he were! ” 

“ Mr. Tulkinghorn,” says Sir Leicester, “ is al¬ 
ways welcome here, and always discreet whereso¬ 
ever he is. A very valuable person, and deservedly 
respected.” 

The debilitated cousin supposes he is “ ’nor- 
mously rich fler.” 

“ He has a stake in the country,” says Sir Leices- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 89 

ter, “ I have no doubt. He is, of course, hand¬ 
somely paid, and he associates almost on a footing 
of equality with the highest society.” 

Everybody starts. For a gun is fired close by. 

“ Good gracious, what’s that? ” cries Volumnia 
with her little withered scream. 

“ A rat,” says my Lady. “ And they have shot 
him.” Enter Mr. Tulkinghorn, followed by Mer¬ 
curies, with lamps and candles. 

“ No, no,” says Sir Leicester, ‘‘ I think not. My 
lady, do you object to the twilight? ” 

On the contrary, my Lady prefers it. 

“ Volumnia? ” 

O! nothing is so delicious to Volumnia, as to sit 
and talk in the dark. 

“ Then take them away,” says Sir Leicester. 
“ Tulkinghorn, I beg your pardon. How do you 
do? ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn with his usual leisurely ease 
advances, renders his passing homage to my Lady, 
takes Sir Leicester’s hand, and subsides into the 
chair proper to him when he has anything to com¬ 
municate, on the opposite side of the Baronet’s little 
newspaper-table. Sir Leicester is apprehensive that 
my Lady, not being very well, will take cold at 
that open window. My Lady is obliged to him, 
but would rather sit there, for the air. Sir Leices¬ 
ter rises, adjusts her scarf about her, and returns to 


/ 


90 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

his seat. Mr. Tulkinghorn in the meanwhile takes 
a pinch of snuff. 

Now,” says Sir Leicester. “ How has that 
election contest gone? ” 

“ Oh, hollow from the beginning. Not a chance. 
They have brought in both their people. You are 
beaten out of all reason. Three to one.” 

It is a part of Mr. Tulkinghorn’s policy and 
mastery to have no political opinions; indeed, no 
opinions. Therefore he says “ you ” are beaten, 
and not we.” 

Sir Leicester is majestically wroth. Volumnia 
never heard of such a thing. The debilitated cousin 
holds that it s — sort of thing that’s pure tapu 
slongs votes — giv’n — Mob. 

It’s the place, you know,” Mr. Tulkinghorn 
goes on to say in the last increasing darkness, when 
there is silence again, “ where they wanted to put 
up Mrs. Rouncewell’s son.” 

“A proposal which, as you correctly informed 
me at the time, he had the becoming taste and 
perception,” observes Sir Leicester, ‘‘ to decline. 
I cannot say that I by any means approve of the 
sentiments expressed by Mr. Rouncewell, some 
little while ago, when he requested Lady Dedlock 
to part with her young companion, simply because 
his son was attached to the girl. Yet there was 
a sense of propriety in his decision.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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Hal says Mr. Tulkinghorn. “ It did not pre¬ 
vent him from being very active in this election, 
though.” 

Sir Leicester is distinctly heard to gasp before 
speaking. “ Did I understand you? Did you say 
that Mr. Rouncewell had been very active in this 
election? ” 

Uncommonly active.” 

“ Against-” 

O dear yes, against you. He is a very good 
speaker. Plain and emphatic. He made a damag¬ 
ing effect, and has great influence. In the busi-’ 
ness-part of the proceedings he carried all before 
him.” 

It is evident to the whole company, though no¬ 
body can see him, that Sir Leicester is staring 
majestically. 

“ And he was much assisted,” says Mr. Tulking¬ 
horn, as a wind-up, “ by his son.” 

“ By his son, sir? ” repeats Sir Leicester, with 
awful politeness. 

By his son.” 

“ The son who wished to marry the young 
woman in my Lady^s service? ” 

“ That son. He has but one.” 

Then upon my honor,” says Sir Leicester, after 
a terrific pause, during which he has been heard 
to snort and felt to stare; “ then upon my honor. 



92 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


upon my life, upon my reputation and principles, 
the floodgates of society are burst open, and the 
waters have — a —■ obliterated the landmarks of 
the framework of the cohesion by which things 
are held together! ” 

General burst of cousinly indignation. Volumnia 
thinks if is really high time, you know, for some¬ 
body in power to step in and do something strong. 
The debilitated cousin thinks—Country’s going 
— Dayvle — steeple-chase pace. 

“ I beg,” says Sir Leicester, in a breathless con¬ 
dition, that we may not comment further on 
this circumstance. Comment is superfluous. My 
Lady, let me suggest in reference to that young 
woman-” 

“ I have no intention,” observes my Lady from 
her window, in a low but decided tone, of parting 
with her.” 

“ That was not my meaning,” returns Sir 
Leicester. “ I am glad to hear you say so. I 
would suggest that as you think her worthy of 
your patronage, you should exert your influence 
to keep her from these dangerous hands. You 
might show her what violence would be done, in 
such association, to her duties and principles; and 
you might preserve her for a better fate. You 
might point out to her that she probably would, in 
good time, find a husband at Chesney Wold by 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 


9 S 

whom she would not be — ” Sir Leicester adds, 
after a moment’s consideration, “ dragged from the 
altars of her forefathers.” 

These remarks he offers with his unvarying 
politeness and deference when he addresses him¬ 
self to his wife. She merely moves her head in 
reply. The moon is rising; and where she sits 
there is a little stream of cold pale light, in which 
her head is seen. 

“ It is worthy of remark,” says Mr. Tulking- 
horn, “ however, that these people are, in their 
way, very proud.” 

“ Proud? ” Sir Leicester doubts his hearing. 

“ I should not be surprised, if they all volun¬ 
tarily abandoned the girl — yes, lover and all — 
instead of her abandoning them, supposing she re¬ 
mained at Chesney Wold under such circum¬ 
stances.” 

“ Well! ” says Sir Leicester, tremulously, Well! 
You should know, Mr. Tulkinghorn. You have 
been among them.” 

Really, Sir Leicester,” returns the lawyer, “ I 
state the fact. Why, I could tell you a story — 
with Lady Dedlock’s permission.” 

Her head concedes it, and Volumnia is enchanted. 
A story! O he is going to tell something at last! 
A ghost in it, Volumnia hopes? 

“ No. Real flesh and blood.” Mr. Tulking- 


94 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


horn stops for an instant, and repeats, with some 
little emphasis grafted upon his usual monotony, 
“ Real flesh and blood. Miss Dedlock. Sir 
Leicester, these particulars have only lately become 
known to me. They are very brief. They exem¬ 
plify what I have said. I suppress names for the 
present. Lady Dedlock will not think me ill-bred, 
I hope? ” 

By the light of the fire, which is low, he can be 
seen looking towards the moonlight. By the light 
of the moon Lady Dedlock can be seen, perfectly 
still. 

“ A townsman of this Mrs. Rouncewell, a man 
in exactly parallel circumstances as I am told, 
had the good fortune to have a daughter who at¬ 
tracted the notice of a great lady. I speak of 
really a great lady; not merely great to him, but 
married to a gentleman of your condition. Sir 
Leicester.” 

Sir Leicester condescendingly says, “ Yes, Mr. 
Tulkinghorn; ” implying that then she must have 
appeared of very considerable moral dimensions 
indeed, in the eyes of an ironmaster. 

“ The lady was wealthy and beautiful, and had 
a liking for the girl, and treated her with great 
kindness, and kept her always near her. Now this 
lady preserved a secret under all her greatness, 
which she had preserved for many years. In fact, 
she had in early life been engaged to marry a 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


95 


young rake — he was a captain in the army — 
nothing connected with whom came to any good. 
She never did marry him, but she gave birth to a 
child of which he was the father.” 

By the light of the fire he can be seen looking 
towards the moonlight. By the moonlight, Lady 
Dedlock can be seen in profile, perfectly still. 

“ The captain in the army being dead, she be¬ 
lieved herself safe; but a train of circumstances 
with which I need not trouble you, led to discovery. 
As I received the story, they began in an impru¬ 
dence on her own part one day, when she was 
taken by surprise; which shows how difficult it is 
for the firmest of us (she was very firm) to be 
always guarded. There was great domestic trouble 
and amazement, you may suppose; I leave you to 
imagine. Sir Leicester, the husband’s grief. But 
that is not the present point. When Mr. Rounce- 
well’s townsman heard of the disclosure, he no 
more allowed the girl to be patronized and honored, 
than he would have suffered her to be trodden 
under foot before his eyes. Such was his pride, that 
he indignantly took her away, as if from reproach 
and disgrace. He had no sense of the honor done 
him and his daughter by the lady’s condescension; 
not the least. He resented the girl’s position, as 
if the lady had been the commonest of commoners. 
That is the story. I hope Lady Dedlock will ex¬ 
cuse its painful nature.” 


96 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


There are various opinions on the merits, more 
or less conflicting with Volumnia’s. That fair 
young creature cannot believe there ever was any 
such lady, and rejects the whole history on the 
threshold. The majority incline to the debilitated 
cousin’s sentiment, which is in few words — no 
business — Rouncewell’s ’femal townsman.” Sir 
Leicester generally refers back in his mind to Wat 
Tyler, and arranges a sequence of events on a plan 
of his own. 

There is not much conversation in all, for late 
hours have been kept at Chesney Wold of late, 
and this is the first night in many on which the 
family have been alone. It is past ten, when Sir 
Leicester begs Mr. Tulkinghorn to ring for candles. 
Then the stream of moonlight has swelled into a 
lake, and then Lady Dedlock for the first time 
moves, and rises, and comes forward to a table for 
a glass of water. Winking cousins, bat-like in the 
candle glare, crowd round to give it; Volumnia 
(always ready for something better if procurable) 
takes another, a very mild sip of which contents 
her; Lady Dedlock, graceful, self-possessed, 
looked after by admiring eyes, passes away slowly 
down the long perspective by the side of that 
Nymph, not at all improving her as a question of 
contrast. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


97 


Mr. Tulkinghorn arrives in his turret-room, a 
little breathed by the journey up, though leisurely 
performed. There is an expression on his face as 
if he had discharged his mind of some grave matter, 
and were, in his close way, satisfied. To say of a 
man so severely and strictly self-repressed that he 
is triumphant, would be to do him as great an 
injustice as to suppose him troubled with love or 
sentiment, or any romantic weakness. He is se¬ 
dately satisfied. Perhaps there is a rather increased 
sense of power upon him, as he loosely grasps one 
of his veinous wrists with his other hand, and hold¬ 
ing it behind his back walks noiselessly up and 
down. 

There is a capacious writing-table in the room, 
on which is a pretty large accumulation of papers. 
The green lamp is lighted, his reading-glasses lie 
upon the desk, the easy-chair is wheeled up to it, 
and it would seem as though he had intended to 
bestow an hour or so upon these claims on his atten¬ 
tion before going to bed. But he happens not to be 
in a business mind. After a glance at the docu¬ 
ments awaiting his notice — with his head bent 
low over the table, the old man’s sight for print 
or writing being defective at night — he opens the 
French window and steps out upon the leads. 
There he again walks slowly up and down, in the 
same attitude; subsiding, if a man so cool may 


gS GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

have any need to subside, from the story he has 
related downstairs. 

The time was once, when men as knowing as 
Mr. Tulkinghorn would walk on turret-tops in the 
star-light, and look up into the sky to read their 
fortunes there. Hosts of stars are visible to-night, 
though their brilliancy is eclipsed by the splendor 
of the moon. 

As he paces the leads, with his eyes most prob¬ 
ably as high above his thoughts as they are high 
above the earth, he is suddenly stopped in pass¬ 
ing the windows by two eyes that meet his own. 
The ceiling of his room is rather low; the upper 
part of the door, which is opposite the window, 
is of glass. There is an inner baize door, too, but 
the night being warm he did not close it when he 
came upstairs. These eyes that meet his own, 
are looking in through the glass from the corridor 
outside. He knows them well. The blood has 
not flushed into his face so suddenly and readily 
for many a long year, as when he recognizes Lady 
Dedlock. 

He steps into the room, and she comes in too, 
closing both the doors behind her. There is a wild 
disturbance — is it fear or anger? — in her eyes. 
In her carriage and all else, she looks as she 
looked downstairs two hours ago. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


99 


Is it fear, or is it anger, now? He cannot be 
sure. Both might be as pale, both as intent. 

“ Lady Dedlock? ” 

She does not speak at first, nor even when she 
has slowly dropped into the easy-chair by the table. 
They look at each other, like two pictures. 

“ Why have you told my story to so many per¬ 
sons? ” 

“ Lady Dedlock, it was necessary for me to in¬ 
form you that I knew it.” 

“ How long have you known it? ” 

I have suspected it a long while — fully known 
it a little while.” 

“ Months? ” 

“ Days.” 

He stands before her, with one hand on a chair- 
back and the other in his old-fashioned waist¬ 
coat and shirt-frill, exactly as he has stood before 
her at any time since her marriage. The same 
formal politeness, the same composed deference 
that might as well be defiance; the whole man 
the same dark, cold object, at the same distance, 
which nothing has ever diminished. 

“ Is this true concerning the poor girl? ” 

He slightly inclines and advances his head, as 
not quite understanding the question. 

“ You know what you related. Is it true? Do 


100 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


her friends know my story also? Is it the town- 
talk yet? Is it chalked upon the walls and cried 
in the streets? ” 

So! Anger, and fear, and shame. All three 
contending. What power this woman has to keep 
these raging passions down! Mr. Tulkinghorn’s 
thoughts take such form as he looks at her, with 
his ragged gray eyebrows a hair’s-breadth more 
contracted than usual, under her gaze. 

“ No, Lady Dedlock. That was a hypothetical 
case, arising out of Sir Leicester’s unconsciously 
carrying the matter with so high a hand. But it 
would be a real case if they knew — what we 
know.” 

“ Then they do not know it yet? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Can I save the poor girl from injury before 
they know it? ” 

“ Really, Lady Dedlock,” Mr. Tulkinghorn re¬ 
plies, “ I cannot give a satisfactory opinion on that 
point.” 

And he thinks, with the interest of attentive 
curiosity, as he watches the struggle in her breast, 
“ The power and force of this woman are astonish¬ 
ing! ” 

“ Sir,” she says, for the moment obliged to set 
her lips with all the energy she has, that she may 
speak distinctly, “ I will make it plainer. I do not 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


lOI 


dispute your hypothetical case. I anticipated it, 
and felt its truth as strongly as you can do, when 
I saw Mr. Rouncewell here. I knew very well 
that if he could have had the power of seeing me 
as I was, he would consider the poor girl tarnished 
by having for a moment been, although most inno¬ 
cently, the subject of my great and distinguished 
patronage. But, I have an interest in her; or 
I should rather say — no longer belonging to this 
place — I had; and if you can find so much con¬ 
sideration for the woman under your foot as to 
remember that, she will be very sensible of your 
mercy.’^ 

Mr. Tulkinghorn, profoundly attentive, throws 
this off with a shrug of self-depreciation, and con¬ 
tracts his eyebrows a little more. 

“ You have prepared me for my exposure, and 
I thank you for that too. Is there anything that 
you require of me? Is there any claim that I 
can release, or any charge or trouble that I can 
spare my husband in obtaining his release, by cer¬ 
tifying to the exactness of your discovery? I will 
write anything, here and now, that you will dic¬ 
tate. I am ready to do it.’’ 

And she would do it! thinks the lawyer, watch¬ 
ful of the firm hand with which she takes the pen! 

“ I will not trouble you. Lady Dedlock. Pray 
spare yourself.” 


102 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I have long expected this, as you know. I 
neither wish to spare myself, nor to be spared. 
You can do nothing worse to me than you have 
done. Do what remains, now.” 

“ Lady Dedlock, there is nothing to be done. 
I will take leave to say a few words, when you have 
finished.” 

Their need for watching one another should be 
over now, but they do it all this time, and the stars 
watch them both through the opened window. 
Away in the moonlight lie the woodland fields at 
rest, and the wide house is as quiet as the narrow 
one. The narrow one! Where are the digger and 
the spade, this peaceful night, destined to add the 
last great secret to the many secrets of the Tul- 
kinghorn existence? Is the man born yet, is the 
spade wrought yet? Curious questions to consider, 
more curious perhaps not to consider, under the 
watching stars upon a summer night. 

Of repentance or remorse, or any feeling of 
mine,” Lady Dedlock presently proceeds, “ I say 
not a word. If I were not dumb, you would be 
deaf. Let that go by. It is not for your ears.” 

He makes a feint of offering a protest, but she 
sweeps it away with her disdainful hand. 

“ Of other and very different things I come to 
speak to you. My jewels are all in their proper 
places of keeping. They will be foimd there. So, 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


103 


my dresses. So, all the valuables I have. Some 
ready money I had with me, please to say, but no 
large amount. I did not wear my own dress, in 
order that I might avoid observation. I went, to 
be henceforward lost. Make this known. I leave 
no other charge with you.’^ 

“ Excuse me. Lady Dedlock,” says Mr. Tul- 
kinghorn, quite unmoved. “ I am not sure that I 

understand you. You went-? ” 

“ To be lost to all here. I leave Chesney Wold 
to-night. I go this hour.” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn shakes his head. She rises; 
but he, without moving hand from chair-back or 
from old-fashioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, shakes 
his head. 

“ What? Not go as I have said? ” 

“ No, Lady Dedlock,” he very calmly replies. 

Do you know the relief that my disappearance 
will be? Have you forgotten the stain and blot 
upon this place, and where it is, and who it is? ” 
“ No, Lady Dedlock, not by any means.” 
Without deigning to rejoin, she moves to the 
inner door and has it in her hand, when he says 
to her, without himself stirring hand or foot, or 
raising his voice: 

“ Lady Dedlock, have the goodness to stop and 
hear me, or before you reach the staircase I shall 
ring the alarm-bell and rouse the house. And 



104 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


then I must speak out, before every guest and 
servant, every man and woman, in it.*’ 

He has conquered her. She falters, trembles, 
and puts her hand confusedly to her head. Slight 
tokens these in anyone else; but when so practiced 
an eye as Mr. Tulkinghorn’s sees indecision for a 
moment in such a subject, he thoroughly knows its 
value. 

He promptly says again, “ Have the goodness 
to hear me. Lady Dedlock,” and motions to the 
chair from which she has risen. She hesitates, but 
he motions again, and she sits down. 

“ The relations between us are of an unfortu¬ 
nate description, Lady Dedlock; but, as they are 
not of my making, I will not apologize for them. 
The position I hold in reference to Sir Leicester 
is so well known to you, that I can hardly imagine 
but that I must long have appeared in your eyes 
the natural person to make this discovery.” 

“ Sir,” she returns without looking up from the 
ground, on which her eyes are now fixed, “ I had 
better have gone. It would have been far better 
not to have detained me. I have no more to 
say.” 

“ Excuse me. Lady Dedlock, if I add, a little 
more to hear.” 

“ I wish to hear it at the window, then; I can’t 
breathe where I am.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


105 


His jealous glance as she walks that way, be¬ 
trays an instant’s misgiving that she may have it in 
her thoughts to leap over, and dashing against 
ledge and cornice, strike her life out upon the ter¬ 
race below. But, a moment’s observation of her 
figure as she stands in the window without any 
support, looking out at the stars — not up — 
gloomily out at those stars which are low in the 
heavens — reassures him. By facing round as she 
has moved, he stands a little behind her. 

“ Lady Dedlock, I have not yet been able to 
come to a decision satisfactory to myself, on the 
course before me. I am not clear what to do, or 
how to act next. I must request you, in the mean¬ 
time, to keep your secret as you have kept it so 
long, and not to wonder that I keep it too.” 

He pauses, but she makes no reply. 

“ Pardon me. Lady Dedlock. This is an im¬ 
portant subject. You are honoring me with your 
attention? ” 

“ I am.” 

‘‘ Thank you. I might have known it, from 
what I have seen of your strength of character. I 
ought not to have asked the question, but I have 
the habit of making sure of my ground, step by 
step, as I go on. The sole consideration in this 
unhappy case is Sir Leicester.” 

“ Then why,” she asks in a low voice, and with- 


io6 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

out removing her gloomy look from those distant 
stars, “do you detain me in his house? 

“ Because he is the consideration. Lady Ded- 
lock, I have no occasion to tell you that Sir Leices¬ 
ter is a very proud man; that his reliance upon 
you is implicit; that the fall of that moon out of 
the sky, would not amaze him more than your fall 
from your high position as his wife.” 

She breathes quickly and heavily, but she stands 
as unflinchingly as ever he has seen her in the 
midst of her grandest company. 

“ I declare to you. Lady Dedlock, that with any¬ 
thing short of this case that I have, I would as 
soon have hoped to root up, by means of my own 
strength and my own hands, the oldest tree on this 
estate, as to shake your hold upon Sir Leicester, 
and Sir Leicester’s trust and confidence in you. 
And even now, with this case I hesitate. Not that 
he could doubt (that, even with him, is impos¬ 
sible), but that nothing can prepare him for the 
blow.” 

“ Not my flight? ” she returned. “ Think of it 
again.” 

“ Your flight. Lady Dedlock, would spread the 
whole truth, and a hundred times the whole truth, 
far and wide. It would be impossible to save the 
family credit for a day. It is not to be thought 
of.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


107 


There is a quiet decision in his reply, which 
admits of no remonstrance. 

^‘When I speak of Sir Leicester being the sole 
consideration, he and the family credit are one. 
Sir Leicester and the baronetcy. Sir Leicester and 
Chesney Wold, Sir Leicester and his ancestors and 
his patrimony”; Mr. Tulkinghorn very dry here; 
“ are, I need not say to you. Lady Dedlock, in¬ 
separable.” 

“ Good.” 

“ Therefore,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, pursuing 
his case in his jog-trot style, “ I have much to 
consider. This is to be hushed up, if it can be. 
How can it be, if Sir Leicester is driven out of 
his wits, or laid upon a death-bed? If I inflicted 
this shock upon him to-morrow morning, how could 
the immediate change in him be accounted for? 
What could have caused it? What could have 
divided you? Lady Dedlock, the wall-chalking 
and the street-crying would come on directly; and 
you are to remember that it would not affect you 
merely (whom I cannot at all consider in this busi¬ 
ness) but your husband. Lady Dedlock, your hus¬ 
band.” 

He gets plainer as he gets on, but not an atom 
more emphatic or animated. 

“ There is another point of view,” he continues, 
“ in which the case presents itself. Sir Leicester 


io8 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

is devoted to you almost to infatuation. He might 
not be able to overcome that infatuation, even 
knowing what we know. I am putting an extreme 
case, but it might be so. If so, it were better that 
he knew nothing. Better for common sense, better 
for him, better for me. I must take all this into 
account, and it combines to render a decision very 
difficult.” 

She stands looking out at the same stars with¬ 
out a word. They are beginning to pale, and she 
looks as if their coldness froze her. 

‘‘My experience teaches me,” says Mr. Tul- 
kinghorn, who has by this time got his hands in 
his pockets, and is going on in his business con¬ 
sideration of the matter, like a machine, “ my ex¬ 
perience teaches me. Lady Dedlock, that most of 
the people I know would do far better to leave 
marriage alone. It is at the bottom of three- 
fourths of their troubles. So I thought when 
Sir Leicester married, and so I always have thought 
since. No more about that. I must now be guided 
by circumstances. In the meanwhile I must beg 
you to keep your own counsel, and I will keep 
mine.” 

“ I am to drag my present life on, holding its 
pains at your pleasure, day by day? ” she asks, still 
looking at the distant sky. 

“ Yes, I am afraid so. Lady Dedlock.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


109 

“ It is necessary, you think, that I should be so 
tied to the stake? ” 

“ I am sure that what I recommend is necessary.” 

“ I am to remain on this gaudy platform, on 
which my miserable deception has been so long 
acted, and it is to fall beneath me when you give 
the signal? ” she said slowly. 

“ Not without notice. Lady Dedlock. I shall 
take no step without forewarning you.” 

She asks all her questions as if she were repeat¬ 
ing them from memory, or calling them over in her 
sleep. 

“ We are to meet as usual? ” 

“ Precisely as usual, if you please? ” 

“ And I am to hide my guilt, as I have done so 
many years? ” 

“ As you have done so many years. I should 
not have made that reference myself. Lady Ded¬ 
lock, but I may now remind you that your secret 
can be no heavier to you than it was, and is no 
worse and no better than it was. I know it cer¬ 
tainly, but I believe we have never wholly trusted 
each other.” 

She stands absorbed in the same frozen way for 
some little time, before asking: 

“ Is there anything more to be said to-night? ” 

“Why,” Mr. Tulkinghorn returns methodically 
as he softly rubs his hands, “ I should like to be as- 


no 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


sured of your acquiescence in my arrangements, 
Lady Dedlock.” 

“ You may be assured of it.’^ 

“ Good. And I would wish in conclusion to 
remind you, as a business precaution, in case it 
should be necessary to recall the fact in any com¬ 
munication with Sir Leicester, that throughout our 
interview I have expressly stated my sole considera¬ 
tion to be Sir Leicester’s feelings and honor, and 
the family reputation. I should have been happy 
to have made Lady Dedlock a prominent con¬ 
sideration, too, if the case had admitted of it; but 
unfortunately it does not.” 

“ I can attest your fidelity, sir.” 

Both before and after saying it she remains 
absorbed, but at length moves, and turns, unshaken 
in her natural and acquired presence, towards the 
door. Mr. Tulkinghom opens both the doors 
exactly as he would have done yesterday, or as he 
would have done ten years ago, and makes his old- 
fashioned bow as she passes out. It is not an or¬ 
dinary look that he receives from the handsome 
face as it goes into the darkness, and it is not an 
ordinary movement, though a very slight one, that 
acknowledges his courtesy. But, as he reflects 
when he is left alone, the woman has been putting 
no common constraint upon herself. 

He would know it all the better, if he saw the 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


III 


woman pacing her own rooms with her hair wildly 
thrown from her flung back face, her hands clasped 
behind her head, her figure twisted as if by pain. 
He would think so all the more, if he saw the woman 
thus hurrying up and down for hours, without 
fatigue, without intermission, followed by the faith¬ 
ful step upon the Ghost’s Walk. But he shuts 
out the now chilled air, draws the window-curtain, 
goes to bed, and falls asleep. And truly when the 
stars go out and the wan day peeps into the turret- 
chamber, finding him at his oldest, he looks as if 
the digger and the spade were both commissioned 
and would soon be digging. 

From the verdant undulations and the spread¬ 
ing oaks of the Dedlock property, Mr. Tulking- 
horn transfers himself to the stale heat and dust 
of London. His manner of coming and going be¬ 
tween the two places, is one of his impenetrabili¬ 
ties. He walks into Chesney Wold as if it were 
next door to his chambers, and returns to his cham¬ 
bers as if he had never been out of Lincoln’s Inn 
Fields. He neither changes his dress before the 
journey, nor talks of it afterwards. He melted 
out of his turret-room this morning, just as now, 
in the late twilight, he melts into his own square. 

The lamplighter is skipping up and down his 


II2 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

ladder on Mr. Tulkinghom’s side of \the Fields, 
when that high-priest of noble mysteries arrives at 
his own dull court-yard. He ascends the door¬ 
steps, and is gliding into the dusky hall, when he 
encounters, on the top step, a bowing and pro¬ 
pitiatory little man. 

“ Is that Snagsby? 

Yes, sir. I hope you are well, sir. I was just 
giving you up, sir, and going home.” 

“ Aye? What is it? What do you want with 
me? ” 

“ Well, sir,” says Mr. Snagsby, holding his hat 
at the side of his head, in his deference towards 
his best customer, “ I was wishful to say a word to 
you, sir.” 

“ Can you say it here? ” 

‘‘ Perfectly, sir.” 

“ Say it then.” The lawyer turns, leans his arms 
on the iron railing at the top of the steps, and 
looks at the lamplighter lighting the court-yard. 

“ It is relating,” says Mr. Snagsby, in a mys¬ 
terious low voice: “it is relating — not to put 
too fine a point upon it — to the foreigner, sir? ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn eyes him with some surprise. 
“ What foreigner? ” 

“ The foreign female, sir. French, if I don’t 
mistake. I am not acquainted with that language 
myself, but I should judge from her manners and 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


113 

appearance that she was French; anyways, cer¬ 
tainly foreign. Her that was upstairs, sir, when 
Mr. Bucket and me had the honor of waiting upon 
you with the sweeping-boy that night.” 

“ Oh I yes, yes. Mademoiselle Hortense.” 

Indeed, sir? ” Mr. Snagsby coughs his cough 
of submission behind his hat. “ I am not ac¬ 
quainted myself with the names of foreigners in 
general, but I have no doubt it would be that.” 

“ And what can you have to say, Snagsby,” de¬ 
mands Mr." Tulkinghorn, “ about her? ” 

“ Well, sir,” returns the stationer, shading his 
communication with his hat, “ it falls a little hard 
upon me. My domestic happiness is very great — 
at least, it’s as great as can be expected, I’m sure 
— but my little woman is rather given to jealousy. 
Not to put too fine a point upon it, she is very 
much given to jealousy. And you see, a foreign 
female of that genteel appearance coming into the 
shop, and hovering — I should be the last to make 
use of a strong expression, if I could avoid it, but 
hovering, sir — in the court — you know it is — 
now ain’t it? I only put it to yourself, sir.” 

Mr. Snagsby having said this in a very plaintive 
manner, throws in a cough of general application 
to fill up all the blanks. 

“ Why, what do you mean? ” asks Mr. Tulking- 
hom. 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


114 

“ Just so, sir,” returns Mr. Snagsby; “ I was 
sure you would feel it yourself, and would excuse 
the reasonableness of my feelings when coupled 
with the known excitableness of my little woman. 
You see, the foreign female — which you men¬ 
tioned her name just now, with quite a native 
sound, I am sure — caught up the word 
Snagsby that night, being uncommon quick, and 
made inquiry, and got the direction and come at 
dinner-time. Now Guster, our young woman, is 
timid and has fits, and she, taking fright at the 
foreigner’s looks — which are fierce — and at a 
grinding manner that she has of speaking — which 
is calculated to alarm a weak mind — gave way to 
it, instead of bearing up against it, and tumbled 
down the kitchen stairs out of one into another, 
such fits as I do sometimes think are never gone 
into, or come out of, in any house but ours. Con¬ 
sequently there was by good fortune ample occupa¬ 
tion for my little woman, and only me to answer 
the shop. When she did say that Mr. Tulking- 
hom, being always denied to her by his employer 
(which I had no doubt at the time was a foreign 
mode of viewing a clerk), she would do herself the 
pleasure of continually calling at my place until 
she was let in here. Since then she has been, as 
I began by saying, hovering — hovering, sir,” Mr. 
Snagsby repeats the words with pathetic emphasis. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


115 

“ in the court. The effects of which movement it is 
impossible to calculate. I shouldn’t wonder if it 
might have already given rise to the painfullest 
mistakes even in the neighbors’ minds, not mention- 
ing (if such a thing was possible) my little woman. 
Whereas, goodness knows,” says Mr. Snagsby, 
shaking his head, “I never had an idea of a 
foreign female, except as being formerly con;iected 
with a bunch of brooms and a baby, or at the pres¬ 
ent time with a tambourine and ear-rings. I never 
had, I do assure you, sir! ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn had listened gravely to this 
complaint, and inquires, when the stationer has 
finished, And that’s all, is it, Snagsby? ” 

Why, yes, sir, that’s all,” says Mr. Snagsby, 
ending with a cough that plainly adds, “ and it’s 
enough too — for me.” 

“ I don’t know what Mademoiselle Hortense 
may want or mean, unless she is mad,” says the 
lawyer. 

“ Even if she was, you know, sir,” Mr. Snagsby 
pleads, “ it wouldn’t be a consolation to have some 
weapon or another in the form of a foreign dagger, 
planted in the family.” 

‘‘ No,” says the other. “ Well, well! This shall 
be stopped. I am sorry you have been incon¬ 
venienced. If she comes again, send her here.” 

Mr. Snagsby, with much bowing and short apolo- 


ii6 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

getic coughing, takes his leave, lightened in heart. 
Mr. Tulkinghorn goes upstairs, saying to himself. 
These women were created to give trouble, the 
whole earth over. The mistress not being enough 
to deal with, here’s the maid now! But I will be 
short with this jade at least! ” 

So saying he unlocks his door, gropes his way 
into his murky rooms, lights his candles, and looks 
about him. Mr. Tulkinghorn takes a small key 
from his pocket, unlocks a drawer in which there 
is another key, which unlocks a chest in which 
there is another, and so comes to the cellar-key, 
with which he prepares to descend to the regions 
of old wine. He is going towards the door with a 
candle in his hand, when a knock comes. 

“ Who’s this? — Aye, aye, mistress, it’s you, is 
it? You appear at a good time. I have just been 
hearing of you. Now! What do you want? ” 
He stands the candle on the chimney-piece in 
the clerk’s hall, and taps his dry cheek with the 
key, as he addresses these words of welcome to 
Mademoiselle Hortense. That feline personage, 
with her lips tightly shut, and her eyes looking out 
at him sideways, softly closes the door before reply¬ 
ing. 

“ I have had great deal of trouble to find you, 
sir.” 


Have you! ” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


111 

“ I have been here very often, sir. It has al¬ 
ways been said to me, he is not at home, he is en¬ 
gage, he is this and that, he is not for you.” 

“ Quite right, and quite true.” 

“Not true. Lies! ” 

At times, there is a suddenness in the manner 
of Mademoiselle Hortense so like a bodily spring 
upon the subject of it, that such subject involun¬ 
tarily starts and falls back. It is Mr. Tulking- 
horn^s case at present, though Mademoiselle 
Hortense, with her eyes almost shut up (but still 
looking out sideways), is only smiling contemp¬ 
tuously and shaking her head. 

“ Now, mistress,” says the lawyer, tapping the 
key hastily upon the chimney-piece. “ If you have 
anything to say, say it, say it.” 

“ Sir, you have not use me well. You have been 
mean and shabby.” 

“ Mean and shabby, eh? ” returns the lawyer, 
rubbing his nose with the key. 

“ Yes. What is it that I tell you? You know 
you have. You have attrapped me — catched me 
— to give you information; you have asked me 
to show you the dress of mine my Lady must 
have wore that night, you have prayed me to 
come in here to meet that boy — Say! Is it not? ” 
Mademoiselle Hortense makes another spring. 

“ You are a vixen, a vixen! ” Mr. Tulkinghorn 


ii8 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

seems to meditate, as he looks distrustfully at her; 
then he replies, Well, wench, well. I paid you.” 

“You paid me! ” she repeats, with fierce dis¬ 
dain. “ Two sovereign! I have not change them, 
I ref-use them, I des-pise them, I throw them from 
me! ” Which she literally does, taking them out 
of her bosom as she speaks, and flinging them with 
such violence on the floor, that they jerk up again 
into the light before they roll away into comers, 
and slowly settle down there after spinning vehe¬ 
mently. 

“Now! ” says Mademoiselle Hortense, darken¬ 
ing her large eyes again. “ You have paid me? 
Eh my God, O yes! ” 

Mr. Tulkinghorn rubs his head with the key, 
while she entertains herself with a sarcastic laugh. 

“ You must be rich, my fair friend,” he com¬ 
posedly observes, “ to throw money about in that 
way! ” 

“ I am rich,” she returns, “ I am very rich in 
hate. I hate my Lady, of all my heart. You know 
that.” 

“ Know it? How should I know it? ” 

“ Because you have known it perfectly, before 
you prayed me to give you that information. Be¬ 
cause you have known perfectly that 1 was en- 
r-r-raged! ” It appears impossible for Mademoi¬ 
selle to roll the letter r sufficiently in this word, 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


119 


notwithstanding that she assists her energetic de¬ 
livery, by clenching both her hands, and setting 
all her teeth. 

“Oh! I knew that, did I? ” says Mr. Tulking- 
hom examining the wards of the key. 

“ Yes, without doubt. I am not blind. You 
have made sure of me because you knew that. 
You had reason! I det-est her.” Mademoiselle 
folds her arms, and throws this last remark at him 
over one of her shoulders. 

“ Having said this, have you anything else to 
say. Mademoiselle? ” 

“ I am not yet placed. Place me well. Find 
me a good condition! If you cannot, or do not 
choose to do that, employ me to pursue her, to 
chase her, to disgrace and to dishonor her. I will 
help you well, and with a good will. It is what 
you do. Do I know that? ” 

“ You appear to know a good deal,” Mr. Tul- 
kinghorn retorts. 

“ Do I not? Is it that I am so weak as to 
believe, like a child, that I come here in that dress 
to rec-eive that boy, only to decide a little bet, a 
wager? — Eh my God, O yes! ” In this reply, 
down to the word “wager ” inclusive, Mademoiselle 
has been ironically polite and tender; then, as sud¬ 
denly dashed into the bitterest and most defiant 
scorn, with her black eyes in one and the same 


120 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

moment very nearly shut, and staringly wide open. 

“ Now, let us see,^^ says Mr. Tulkinghorn, tap¬ 
ping his chin with the key, and looking imperturb¬ 
ably at her, how this matter stands.’^ 

‘^Ah! Let us see,” Mademoiselle assents, with 
many angry and tight nods of her head. 

“You come here to make a remarkably modest 
demand, which you have just stated, and it not be¬ 
ing conceded, you will come again.” 

“ And again,” says Mademoiselle, with more 
tight and angry nods. “ And yet again. And yet 
again. And many times again. In effect, for¬ 
ever! ” 

“ And not only here, but you will go to Mr. 
Snagsby’s, too, perhaps? That visit not succeed¬ 
ing either, you will go again perhaps? ” 

“ And again,” repeats Mademoiselle, cataleptic 
with determination. “ And yet again. And yet 
again. And many times again. In effect, forever! ” 
“ Very well. Now, Mademoiselle Hortense, let 
me recommend you to take the candle and pick up 
that money of yours. I think you will find it 
behind the clerk’s partition in the corner yonder.” 

She merely throws a laugh over her shoulder, 
and stands her ground with folded arms. 

“ You will not, eh? ” 

“ No, I will not! ” 

“ So much the poorer you; so much the richer 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


I 2 I 


I! Look, mistress, this is the key of my wine- 
cellar. It is a large key, but the keys of prisons 
are larger. In this city, there are houses of cor¬ 
rection (where the treadmills are, for women) 
the gates of which are very strong and heavy, and 
no doubt the keys too. I am afraid a lady of your 
spirit and activity would find it an inconvenience 
to have one of those keys turned upon her for any 
length of time. What do you think? ’’ 

“ I think,Mademoiselle replies, without any 
action, and in a clear obliging voice, “ that you are 
a miserable wretch.” 

Probably,” returns Mr. Tulkinghorn, quietly 
blowing his nose. But I don’t ask what you 
think of myself; I ask what you think of the 
prison.” 

Nothing. What does it matter to me? ” 

Why, it matters this much, mistress,” says 
the lawyer deliberately putting away his handker¬ 
chief, and adjusting his frill, “ the law is so des¬ 
potic here, that it interferes to prevent any of 
our good English citizens from being troubled, 
even by a lady’s visits, against his desire. And, 
on his complaining that he is so troubled, it takes 
hold of the troublesome lady, and shuts her up in 
prison under hard discipline. Turns the key upon 
her, mistress.” Illustrating with the cellar key. 

“ Truly? ” returns Mademoiselle, in the same 


122 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


pleasant voice. That is droll! But — my faith! 
— still what does it matter to me? ’’ 

‘‘ My fair friend/’ says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “ make 
another visit here, or at Mr. Snagsby’s, and you 
shall learn.” 

In that case you will send me to the prison, 
perhaps? ” 

“ Perhaps.” 

It would be contradictory for one in Made¬ 
moiselle’s state of agreeable jocularity to foam at 
the mouth, otherwise a tigerish expansion there¬ 
abouts might look as if a very little more would 
make her do it. 

“ In a word, mistress,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, 
I am sorry to be unpolite, but if you ever pre¬ 
sent yourself uninvited here — or there — again, 
I will give you over to the police. Their gallantry 
is great, but they carry troublesome people through 
the streets in an ignominious manner; strapped 
down on a board, my good wench.” 

I will prove you,” whispers Mademoiselle, 
stretching out her hand, “ I will try if you dare 
to do it! ” 

“ And if,” pursues the lawyer, without mind¬ 
ing her, I place you in that good condition of 
being locked up in jail, it will be some time before 
you find yourself at liberty again.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


123 


‘‘ I will prove you/’ repeats Mademoiselle in 
her former whisper. 

And now,” proceeds the lawyer, still without 
minding her, “you had better go. Think twice 
before you come here again.” 

“ Think you,” she answers, “ twice two hundred 
times! ” 

“ You were dismissed by your lady, you know,” 
Mr. Tulkinghorn observes, following her out upon 
the staircase, “ as the most implacable and un¬ 
manageable of women. Now turn over a new 
leaf, and take warning by what I say to you. For 
what I say, I mean; and what I threaten, I will 
do, mistress.” 

She goes down without answering or looking 
behind her. When she is gone, he goes down too; 
and returning with his cobweb-covered bottle, de¬ 
votes himself to a leisurely enjoyment of its con¬ 
tents: now and then, as he throws his head back 
in his chair, catching sight of the pertinacious 
Roman pointing from the ceiling. 

The place in Lincolnshire has shut its many 
eyes again, and the house in town is awake. In 
Lincolnshire, the Dedlocks of the past doze in 
their picture-frames and the low wind murmurs 


124 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

through the long drawing-room as if they were 
breathing pretty regularly. In town, the Dedlocks 
of the present rattle in their fire-eyed carriages 
through the darkness of the night, and the Ded- 
lock Mercuries, with ashes (or hair-powder) on 
their heads, symptomatic of their humility, loll 
away the drowsy mornings in the little windows 
of the hall. The fashionable world — tremendous 
orb, nearly five miles round — is in full swing, and 
the solar system works respectfully at its appointed 
distances. 

Where the throng is thickest, where the lights 
are brightest, where all the senses are ministered 
to with the greatest delicacy and refinement. Lady 
Dedlock is. From the shining heights she has 
scaled and taken she is never absent. Though the 
belief she of old reposed in herself, as one able to 
reserve whatsoever she would under her mantle of 
pride, is beaten down; though she has no assur¬ 
ance that what she is to those around her, she 
will remain another day; it is not in her nature, 
when envious eyes are looking on, to yield or to 
droop. They say of her that she has lately grown 
more handsome and more haughty. 

Mr. Tulkinghorn says nothing; looks nothing. 
Now, as heretofore, he is to be found in doorways 
of rooms, with limp white cravat loosely twisted 
into its old-fashioned tie, receiving patronage from 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


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the Peerage and making no sign. Of all men he 
is still the last who might be supposed to have any 
influence upon my Lady. Of all women she is 
still the last who might be supposed to have any 
dread of him. 

One thing has been much on her mind since 
their late interview in his turret-room at Chesney 
Wold. She is now decided, and prepared to throw 
it off. 

Lady Dedlock dines alone in her own room to¬ 
day. Lady Dedlock asks, on sitting down to 
dinner, whether Sir Leicester is gone out yet. Yes. 
Whether Mr. Tulkinghorn is gone yet? No. Pres¬ 
ently she asks again, is he gone yet? No. What 
is he doing? Mercury thinks he is writing letters 
in the library. Would my Lady wish to see him? 
Anything but that. 

But he wishes to see my Lady. Within a few 
more minutes he is reported as sending his re¬ 
spects, and could my Lady please to receive him 
for a word or two after her dinner? My Lady will 
receive him now. He comes now, apologizing for 
intruding, even by her permission, while she is at 
table. When they are alone, my Lady waves her 
hand to dispense with such mockeries. 

“ What do you want, sir? 

“Why, Lady Dedlock,” says the lawyer, taking 
a chair at a little distance from her, and slowly 


126 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


rubbing his rusty legs up and down, up and down, 
up and down; “lam rather surprised by the course 
you have taken.” 

“ Indeed? ” 

“ Yes, decidedly. I was not prepared for it. I 
consider it a departure from our agreement and 
your promise. It puts us in a new position. Lady 
Dedlock. I feel myself under the necessity of 
saying that I don’t approve of it.” 

He stops in his rubbing, and looks at her, with 
his hands on his knees. Imperturbable and un¬ 
changeable as he is, there is still an indefinable 
freedom in his manner, which is new, and which 
does not escape this woman’s observation. 

“ I do not quite understand you.” 

“ O yes, you do, I think. I think you do. Come, 
come. Lady Dedlock, we must not fence and parry 
now. You know you like this girl.” 

“ Well, sir? ” 

“ And you know — and I know — that you have 
not sent her away for the reasons you have assigned, 
but for the purpose of separating her as much as 
possible from — excuse my mentioning it as a 
matter of business — any reproach and exposure 
that impend over yourself.” 

“ Well, sir? ” 

“ Well, Lady Dedlock,” returns the lawyer, cross¬ 
ing his legs and nursing the uppermost knee. “ I 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


127 


object to that, I consider that a dangerous pro¬ 
ceeding. I know it to be unnecessary, and calcu¬ 
lated to awaken speculation, doubt, rumor, I don’t 
know what, in the house. Besides, it is a viola¬ 
tion of our agreement. You were to be exactly 
what you were before. Whereas, it must be evi¬ 
dent to yourself, as it is to me, that you have been 
this evening very different from what you were 
before. Why, bless my soul. Lady Dedlock, trans¬ 
parently so!” 

“ If, sir,” she begins, “ in my knowledge of 
my secret-” But he interrupts her. 

“ Now, Lady Dedlock, this is a matter of busi¬ 
ness, and in a matter of business the ground cannot 
be kept too clear. It is no longer your secret. Ex¬ 
cuse me. That is just the mistalce. It is my secret, 
in trust for Sir Leicester and the family. If it 
were your secret. Lady Dedlock, we should not 
be here, holding this conversation.” 

“ That is very true. If, in my knowledge of the 
secret, I do what I can to spare an innocent girl 
(especially, remembering your own reference to 
her when you told my story to the assembled guests 
at Chesney Wold) from the taint of my impend¬ 
ing shame, I act upon a resolution I have taken. 
Nothing in the world, and no one in the world, 
could shake it, or could move me.” This she says 
with great deliberation and distinctness, and with 



128 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

no more outward passion than himself. As for 
him, he methodically discusses his matter of busi¬ 
ness, as if she were any insensible instrument used 
in business. 

Really? Then you see, Lady Dedlock/* he 
returns, “ you are not to be trusted. You have 
put the case in a perfectly plain way, and accord¬ 
ing to the literal fact; and, that being the case, you 
are not to be trusted.’^ 

Perhaps you may remember that I expressed 
some anxiety on this same point, when we spoke 
at night at Chesney Wold? ” 

Yes,” says Mr. Tulkinghom, coolly getting up 
and standing on the hearth. ‘‘ Yes. I recollect. 
Lady Dedlock, that you certainly referred to the 
girl; but that was before we came to our arrange¬ 
ment, and both the letter and the spirit of our 
arrangement altogether precluded any action on 
your part, founded upon my discovery. There 
can be no doubt about that. As to sparing the 
girl, of what importance or value is she? Spare! 
Lady Dedlock, here is a family name compromised. 
One might have supposed that the course was 
straight on — over everything, neither to the right 
nor to the left, regardless of all considerations in 
the way, sparing nothing, treading everything 
under foot.” 

She has been looking at the table. She lifts up 


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129 


her eyes, and looks at him. There is a stem ex¬ 
pression on her face, and a part of her lower lip 
is compressed under her teeth. “ This woman 
understands me,” Mr. Tulkinghorn thinks, as she 
lets her glance fall again. ** She cannot be spared. 
Why should she spare others? ” 

For a little while they are silent. Lady Ded- 
lock has eaten no dinner, but has twice or thrice 
poured out water with a steady hand and drunk 
it. She rises from table, takes a lounging-chair, 
and reclines in it, shading her face. There is 
nothing in her manner to express weakness or ex¬ 
cite compassion. It is thoughtful, gloomy, concen¬ 
trated. “ This woman,” thinks Mr. Tulkinghorn, 
standing on the hearth, again a dark object closing 
up her view, is a study.” 

He studies her at his leisure, not speaking for a 
time. She too studies something at her leisure. 
She is not the first to speak; appearing indeed so 
unlikely to be so, though he stood there until 
midnight, that even he is driven upon breaking 
silence. 

“ Lady Dedlock, the most disagreeable part of 
this business interview remains; but it is busi¬ 
ness. Our agreement is broken. A lady of your 
sense and strength of character will be prepared 
for my now declaring it void, and taking my own 
course.” 


130 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I am quite prepared/’ 

Mr. Tulkinghorn inclines his head. “ That is 
all I have to trouble you with, Lady Dedlock.” 

She stops him as he is moving out of the room, 
by asking, “ This is the notice I was to receive? 
I wish not to misapprehend you.” 

“Not exactly the notice you were to receive, 
Lady Dedlock, because the contemplated notice 
supposed the agreement to have been observed. 
But virtually the same, virtually the same. The 
difference is merely in a lawyer’s mind.” 

“ You intend to give me no other notice? ” 

“ You are right. No.” 

“ Do you contemplate undeceiving Sir Leicester 
to-night? ” 

“A home question!” says Mr Tulkinghorn, 
with a slight smile, and cautiously shaking his 
head at the shaded face. “ No, not to-night.” 

“ To-morrow? ” 

“ All things considered, I had better decline 
answering that question. Lady Dedlock. If I were 
to say I don’t know when, exactly, you would not 
believe me, and it would answer no purpose. It 
may be to-morrow. I would rather say no more. 
You are prepared, and I hold out no expectations 
which circumstances might fail to justify. I wish 
you good evening.” 

She removes her hand, turns her pale face 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


131 

towards him as he walks silently to the door, and 
stops him once again as he is about to open it. 

Do you intend to remain in the house any 
time? I heard you were writing in the library. 
Are you going to return there? ’’ 

“ Only for my hat. I am going home.^’ 

She bows her eyes rather than her head, the 
movement is so slight and curious; and he with¬ 
draws. Clear of the room he looks at his watch, 
but is inclined to doubt it by a minute or there¬ 
abouts. There is a splendid clock upon the 
staircase, famous, as splendid clocks not often are, 
for its accuracy. “ And what do you say,” Mr. 
Tulkinghom inquires, referring to it. “ What do 
you say? ” 

If it said now, Don’t go home! ” What a 
famous clock, hereafter, if it said to-night of all 
the nights that it has counted off, to this old man 
of all the young men and old men who ever stood 
before it, “ Don’t go home! ” With its sharp 
clear bell, it strikes three-quarters after seven, 
and ticks on again. Why, you are worse than I 
thought you,” says Mr. Tulkinghom, muttering 
reproof to his watch. “ Two minutes wrong? At 
this rate you won’t last my time.” What a watch 
to return good for evil, if it ticked in answer, 
“ Don’t go home! ” 

He passes out into the streets, and walks on, 


132 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


with his hands behind him, under the shadow of 
the lofty houses, many of whose mysteries, diffi¬ 
culties, mortgages, delicate affairs of all kinds, are 
treasured up within his old black satin waistcoat. 
He is in the confidence of the very bricks and 
mortar. The high chimney-stacks telegraph fam¬ 
ily secrets to him. Yet there is not a voice in a 
mile of them to whisper, “ Don’t go home! ’’ 

Through the stir and motion of the commoner 
streets; through the roar and jar of many vehicles, 
many feet, many voices; with the blazing shop- 
lights lighting him on, the west wind blowing him 
on, and the crowd pressing him on; he is pitilessly 
urged on his way, and nothing meets him, mur¬ 
muring, “ Don’t go home! ” Arrived at last in 
his dull room, to light his candles, and look round 
and up, and see the Roman pointing from the 
ceiling, there is no new significance in the Roman’s 
hand to-night, or in the flutter of the attendant 
groups, to give him the late warning, Don’t come 
here! ” 

It is a moonlight night; but the moon, being 
past the full, is only now rising over the great 
wilderness of London. The stars are shining as 
they shone above the turret-leads at Chesney 
Wold. This woman, as he has of late been so 
accustomed to call her, looks out upon them. Her 
soul is turbulent within her; she is sick at heart. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


133 


and restless. The large rooms are too cramped 
and close. She cannot endure their restraint, and 
will walk alone in a neighboring garden. 

Too capricious and imperious in all she does, 
to be the cause of much surprise in those about 
her as to anything she does, this woman, loosely 
muffled, goes out into the moonlight. Mercury 
attends with the key. Having opened the garden- 
gate, he delivers the key into his Lady’s hands 
at her request, and is bidden to go back. She 
will walk there some time, to ease her aching 
head. She may be an hour; she may be more. 
She needs no further escort. The gate shuts upon 
its spring with a clash, and he leaves her, passing 
on into the dark shades of some trees. 

A fine night, and a bright large moon, and multi¬ 
tudes of stars. Mr. Tulkinghorn, in repairing to 
his cellar, and in opening and shutting those re¬ 
sounding doors, has to cross a little prison-like 
yard. He looks up casually, thinking what a fine 
night, what a bright large moon, what multitudes 
of stars! A quiet night, too. 

What’s that? Who fired a gun or pistol? 
Where was it? 

The few foot-passengers start, stop, and stare 
about them. Some windows and doors are opened, 
and people come out to look. It was a loud report, 
and echoed and rattled heavily. It shook one 


134 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


house, or so a man says who was passing. It has 
aroused all the dogs in the neighborhood, who 
bark vehemently. Terrified cats scamper across 
the road. While the dogs are yet barking and 
howling — there is one dog howling like a demon 
— the church-clocks, as if they were startled too, 
begin to strike. The hum from the streets, like¬ 
wise, seems to swell into a shout. But it is soon 
over. Before the last clock begins to strike ten, 
there is a lull. When it has ceased, the fine night, 
the bright large moon, and multitudes of stars, 
are left at peace again. 

Has Mr. Tulkinghorn been disturbed? His 
windows are dark and quiet, and his door is shut. 
It must be something unusual indeed, to bring him 
out of his shell. Nothing is heard of him, nothing 
is seen of him. What power of cannon might it 
take to shake that rusty old man out of his im¬ 
movable composure? 

But, a little after the coming of the day, come 
people to clean the rooms. The foremost of them 
goes wild; for, looking up at the frescoed ceiling, 
and looking down at what is below it, that person 
shrieks and flies. The others, looking in as the 
first one looked, shriek and fly too, and there is 
an alarm in the street. 

What does it mean? No light is admitted into 
the darkened chamber, and people imaccustomed 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


135 


to it, enter, and treading softly, but heavily, carry 
a weight into the bedroom, and lay it down. 
There is whispering and wondering all day, strict 
search of every corner, careful tracing of steps, 
and careful noting of the disposition of every ar¬ 
ticle of furniture. 

On a table are a bottle (nearly full of wine) 
and a glass upon it, and two candles that were 
blown out suddenly, soon after being lighted. 
There is an empty chair, and a stain upon the 
ground before it that might be almost covered 
with a hand. These objects lie directly within 
range. 

It shall happen surely, through many years to 
come, that ghostly stories shall be told of the 
stain upon the floor, so easy to be covered, so 
hard to be got out. For, Mr. Tulkinghorn’s time 
is over for evermore; lying face downward on the 
floor, shot through the heart. 

*:|f**5|«5|s** 

Mr. Bucket and his fat forefinger are much in 
consultation together under existing circumstances. 
When Mr. Bucket has a matter of this pressing 
interest under his consideration, the fat forefinger 
seems to rise to the dignity of a familiar demon. 
He puts it to his ears, and it whispers information; 


136 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

he puts it to his lips, and it enjoins him to secrecy; 
he rubs it over his nose, and it sharpens his scent; 
he shakes it before a guilty man, and it charms 
him to his destruction. The Augurs of the De¬ 
tective Temple invariably predict, that when Mr. 
Bucket and that finger are in much conference, a 
terrible avenger will be heard of before long. 

Otherwise mildly studious in his observation of 
human nature, on the whole a benignant philos¬ 
opher not disposed to be severe upon the follies 
of mankind, Mr. Bucket pervades a vast number 
of houses, and strolls about an infinity of streets: 
to outward appearance rather languishing for 
want of an object. He is in the friendliest condi¬ 
tion towards his species, and will drink with most 
of them. He is free with his money, affable in 
his manners, innocent in his conversation — but, 
through the placid stream of his life, there glides 
an under-current of forefinger. 

Time and place cannot bind Mr. Bucket. Like 
man in the abstract, he is here to-day and gone 
to-morrow — but, very unlike man indeed, he is 
here again the next day. This evening he will be 
casually looking into the iron extinguishers at 
the door of Sir Leicester Dedlock’s house in town; 
and to-morrow morning he will be walking on the 
leads at Chesney Wold, where erst the old man 
walked whose ghost is propitiated with a hundred 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


137 


guineas. Drawers, desks, pockets, all things be¬ 
longing to him, Mr. Bucket examines. 

It is likely that these occupations are irrecon¬ 
cilable with home enjoyment, but it is certain that 
Mr. Bucket at present does not go home. Though 
in general he highly appreciates the society of Mrs. 
Bucket — a lady of a natural detective genius, 
which, if it had been improved by professional ex¬ 
ercise, might have done great things, but which has 
paused at the level of a clever amateur — he holds 
himself aloof from that dear solace. Mrs. Bucket 
is dependent on their lodger (fortunately an ami¬ 
able lady in whom she takes an interest) for com¬ 
panionship and conversation. 

A great crowd assembles in Lincoln’s Inn Fields 
on the day of the funeral. Sir Leicester Dedlock 
attends the ceremony in person. The Peerage con¬ 
tributes more four-wheeled affliction than has ever 
been seen in that neighborhood. Such is the as¬ 
semblage of armorial bearings on coach panels, 
that the Heralds’ College might be supposed to 
have lost its father and mother at a blow. 

Quiet among the undertakers and the equipages, 
and the calves of so many legs all steeped in grief, 
Mr. Bucket sits concealed in one of the carriages, 
and at his ease surveys the crowd through the 
lattice blinds. He has a keen eye for a crowd — 
as for. what not? — and looking here and there. 


138 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

now from this side of the carriage, now from the 
other, now up at the house windows, now along 
the people’s heads, nothing escapes him. 

“ And there you are, my partner, eh? ” says 
Mr. Bucket to himself, apostrophizing Mrs. Bucket, 
stationed, by his favor, on the steps of the de¬ 
ceased’s house. “ And so you are! And so you 
are! And very well indeed you are looking, Mrs. 
Bucket! ” 

The procession has not started yet, but is wait¬ 
ing for the cause of its assemblage to be brought 
out. Mr. Bucket, in the foremost emblazoned car¬ 
riage, uses his two fat forefingers to hold the 
lattice a hair’s breadth open while he looks. 

And it says a great deal for his attachment, as 
a husband, that he is still occupied with Mrs. B. 
‘‘ There you are, my partner, eh? ” he murmur- 
ingly repeats. “ And our lodger with you. I’m 
taking notice of you, Mrs. Bucket; I hope you’re 
all right in your health, my dear! ” 

Not another word does Mr. Bucket say; but sits 
with most attentive eyes until the sacked deposi¬ 
tory of noble secrets is brought down- Where 

are all those secrets now? Does he keep them yet? 
Did they fly with him on that sudden journey? — 
and until the procession moves, and Mr. Bucket’s 
view is changed. After which he composes himself 
for an easy ride; and takes note of the fittings of 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 


139 


the carriage, in case he should ever find such 
knowledge useful. 

Contrast enough between Mr. Tulkinghorn shut 
up in his dark carriage, and Mr. Bucket shut up 
in his. Between the immeasurable track of space 
beyond the little wound that has thrown the one 
into the fixed sleep which jolts so heavily over the 
stones of the streets, and the narrow track of blood 
which keeps the other in the watchful state ex¬ 
pressed in every hair of his head! But it is all one 
to both; neither is troubled about that. 

Mr. Bucket sits out the procession in his own 
easy manner, and glides from the carriage when 
the opportunity he has settled with himself arrives. 
He makes for Sir Leicester Dedlock’s, which is at 
present a sort of home to him, where he comes and 
goes as he likes at all hours, where he is always 
welcome and made much of, where he knows the 
whole establishment, and walks in an atmosphere 
of mysterious greatness. 

No knocking or ringing for Mr. Bucket. He has 
caused himself to be provided with a key, and can 
pass at his pleasure. As he is crossing the hall. 
Mercury informs him, “ Here^s another letter for 
you, Mr. Bucket, come by post,” and gives it to 
him. 

“ Another one, eh? ” says Mr. Bucket. 

If Mercury should chance to be possessed by 


140 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

any lingering curiosity as to Mr. Bucket’s letters, 
that wary person is not the man to gratify it. Mr. 
Bucket looks at him as if his face were a vista of 
some miles in length, and he were leisurely con¬ 
templating the same. 

“ Do you happen to carry a box? ” says Mr. 
Bucket. 

Unfortunately Mercury is no snuff-taker. 

“ Could you fetch me a pinch from anywheres? ” 
says Mr. Bucket. Thankee. It don’t matter 
what it is; I’m not particular as to the kind. 
Thankee! ” 

Having leisurely helped himself from a canister 
borrowed from somebody downstairs for the pur¬ 
pose, and having made a considerable show of tast¬ 
ing it, first with one side of his nose and then with 
the other, Mr. Bucket, with much deliberation, 
pronounces it of the right sort, and goes on, letter 
in hand. 

Now, although Mr. Bucket walks upstairs to the 
little library within the larger one, with the face 
of a man who receives some scores of letters every 
day, it happens that much correspondence is not 
incidental to his life. He is no great scribe; rather 
handling his pen like the pocketstaff he carries 
about with him always convenient to his grasp; 
and discourages correspondence with himself in 
others, as being too artless and direct a way of 
doing delicate business. Further, he often sees 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


141 

damaging letters produced in evidence, and has 
occasion to reflect that it was a green thing to 
write them. For these reasons he has very little 
to do with letters, either as sender or receiver. And 
yet he has received a round half-dozen within the 
last twenty-four hours. 

“ And this,” says Mr. Bucket, spreading it out 
on the table, “ is in the same hand, and consists 
of the same two words.” 

What two words? 

He turns the key in the door, ungirdles his 
black pocketbook (book of fate to many), lays 
another letter by it, and reads, boldly written in 
each, “ Lady Deblock.” 

“ Yes, yes,” says Mr. Bucket. “ But I could 
have made the money without this anonymous in¬ 
formation.” 

Having put the letters in his book of fate, and 
girdling it up again, he unlocks the door just in 
time to admit his dinner, which is brought upon a 
goodly tray, with a decanter of sherry. Mr. 
Bucket frequently observes, in friendly circles 
where there is no restraint, that he likes a toothful 
of your fine old brown East Inder sherry better 
than anything you can offer him. Consequently he 
fills and empties his glass, with a smack of his lips; 
and is proceeding with his refreshment, when an 
idea enters his mind. 

Mr. Bucket softly opens the door of communica- 


142 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


tion between that room and the next, and looks in. 
The library is deserted, and the fire is sinking low. 
Mr. Bucket’s eye, after taking a pigeon-flight 
around the room, alights upon a table where letters 
are usually put as they arrive. Several letters for 
Sir Leicester are upon it. Mr. Bucket draws near 
and examines the directions. “ No,” he says, 
“ there’s none in that hand. It’s only me as is 
written to. I can break it to Sir Leicester Ded- 
lock, Baronet, to-morrow.” 

With that he returns to finish his dinner with a 
good appetite; and after a light nap, is summoned 
into the drawing-room. Sir Leicester has received 
him there these several evenings past, to know 
whether he has anything to report. The debili¬ 
tated cousin (much exhausted by the funeral), and 
Volumnia, are in attendance. 

Mr. Bucket makes three distinctly different 
bows to these three people. A bow of homage to 
Sir Leicester, a bow of gallantry to Volumnia, 
and a bow of recognition to the debilitated cousin; 
to whom it airily says, “ You are a swell about 
town, and you know me, and I know you.” Hav¬ 
ing distributed these little specimens of his tact, 
Mr. Bucket rubs his hands. 

“ Have you anything new to communicate, offi¬ 
cer? ” inquires Sir Leicester. Do you wish to 
hold any conversation with me in private? ” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


143 


“ Why — not to-night, Sir Leicester Dedlock, 
Baronet.” 

“ Because my time,” pursues Sir Leicester, “ is 
wholly at your disposal, with a view to the vindi¬ 
cation of the outraged majesty of the law.” 

Mr. Bucket coughs and glances at Volumnia, 
rouged and necklaced, as though he would respect¬ 
fully observe, “ I do assure you, you’re a pretty 
creetur. I’ve seen hundreds worse-looking at your 
time of life, I have indeed.” 

The fair Volumnia, not quite unconscious per¬ 
haps of the humanizing influence of her charms, 
pauses in the writing of cocked-hat notes, and 
meditatively adjusts the pearl necklace. Mr. 
Bucket prices that decoration in his mind, and 
thinks it as likely as not that Volumnia is writing 
poetry. 

“ If I have not,” pursues Sir Leicester, “ in the 
most emphatic manner, adjured you, officer, to 
exercise your utmost skill in this atrocious case, 
I particularly desire to take the present opportunity 
of rectifying any omission I may have made. Let 
no expense be a consideration. I am prepared to 
defray all charges. You can incur none, in pursuit 
of the object you have undertaken, that I shall 
hesitate for a moment to bear.” 

Mr. Bucket made Sir Leicester’s bow again, as 
a response to this liberality. 


144 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ My mind/’ Sir Leicester adds, with generous 
warmth, “has not, as may be easily supposed, 
recovered its tone since the late diabolical occur¬ 
rence. It is not likely ever to recover its tone. 
But it is full of indignation to-night, after under¬ 
going the ordeal of consigning to the tomb the 
remains of a faithful, a zealous, a devoted ad¬ 
herent.” 

Sir Leicester’s voice trembles, and his gray hair 
stirs upon his head. Tears are in his eyes; the 
best part of his nature is aroused. 

“ I declare,” he says, “ I solemnly declare that 
until this crime is discovered, and, in the course 
of justice, punished, I almost feel as if there were 
a stain upon my name. A gentleman who has 
devoted a large portion of his life to me, a gentle¬ 
man who has devoted the last day of his life to 
me, a gentleman who has constantly sat at my table 
and slept under my roof, goes from my house to his 
own, and is struck down within an hour of his leav¬ 
ing my house. I cannot say but that he may have 
been followed from my house, watched at my 
house, even first marked because of his association 
with my house — which may have suggested his 
possessing greater wealth and being altogether of 
greater importance than his own retiring demeanor 
would have indicated. If I cannot, with my means 
and influence, and my position, bring all the per- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 145 

petrators of such a crime to light, I fail in the 
assertion of my respect for that gentleman’s mem¬ 
ory, and of my fidelity towards one who was ever 
faithful to me.” 

While he makes this protestation with great 
emotion and earnestness, looking round the room 
as if he were addressing an assembly, Mr. Bucket 
glances at him with an observant gravity in which 
there might be, but for the audacity of the thought, 
a touch of compassion. 

The ceremony of to-day,” continues Sir Leices¬ 
ter, ‘‘ strikingly illustrative of the respect in 
which my deceased friend;” he lays a stress upon 
the word, for death levels all distinction; “was 
held by the flower of the land, has, I say, aggra¬ 
vated the shock I have received from this most 
horrible and audacious crime. If it were my 
brother who had committed it, I would not spare 
him.” 

Mr. Bucket looks very grave. Volumnia re¬ 
marks of the deceased that he was the trustiest 
and dearest person! 

“ You must feel it as a deprivation to you, miss,” 
replied Mr. Bucket, soothingly, “ no doubt. He 
was calculated to be a, deprivation, I’m sure he 
was.” 

Volumnia gives Mr. Bucket to understand, in 
reply, that her sensitive mind is fully made up 


146 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

never to get the better of it as long as she lives; 
that her nerves are unstrung for ever; and that 
she has not the least expectation of ever smiling 
again. 

“ It gives a start to a delicate female,” says 
Mr. Bucket, sympathetically, “ but it’ll wear off.” 

Volumnia wishes of all things to know what is 
doing? Whether they are going to convict, or 
whatever it is, that dreadful soldier? Whether he 
had any accomplices, or whatever the thing is 
called in the law? And a great deal more to the 
like artless purpose. 

“ Why, you see, miss,” returns Mr. Bucket, 
bringing the finger into persuasive action — and 
such is his natural gallantry that he had almost 
said, my dear; “ it ain’t easy to answer those 
questions at the present moment. Not at the 
present moment. I’ve kept myself on this case. 
Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” whom Mr. 
Bucket takes into the conversation in right of his 
importance, morning, noon, and night. But for 
a glass or two of sherry, I don’t think I could have 
had my mind so much upon the stretch as it has 
been. I cotUd answer your question miss, but duty 
forbids it. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, will 
very soon be made acquainted with all that has 
been traced. And I hope that he may find it; ” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


147 

Mr. Bucket again looks grave; “to his satisfac¬ 
tion.” 

The debilitated cousin only hopes some fler’ll 
be executed — zample. Thinks more interest’s 
wanted — get man hanged presentime — than get 
man place ten thousand a year. Hasn’t a doubt 
— zample — far better hang wrong fler than no 
fler. 

“ You know life, you know, sir,” says Mr. 
Bucket, with a complimentary twinkle of his eye 
and crook of his finger, “ and you can confirm 
what IVe mentioned to this lady. You don’t 
want to be told, that, from information I have 
received, I have gone to work. You’re up to what 
a lady can’t be expected to be up to. Lord! es¬ 
pecially in your elevated station of society, miss,” 
says Mr. Bucket, quite reddening at another nar¬ 
row escape from my dear. 

“ The officer, Volumnia,” observes Sir Leicester, 
“ is faithful to his duty, and perfectly right.” 

Mr. Bucket murmurs, “ Glad to have the honor 
o’ your approbation. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baro¬ 
net.” 

“ In fact, Volumnia,” proceeds Sir Leicester, “ it 
is not holding up a good model for imitation, to 
ask the officer any such questions as you have put 
to him. He is the best judge of his own responsi- 


148 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

bility; he acts upon his responsibility. And it 
does not become us, who assist in making the laws, 
to impede or interfere with those who carry them 
into execution. Or,’^ says Sir Leicester, somewhat 
sternly, for Volumnia was going to cut in before 
he had rounded his sentence; or who vindicate 
their outraged majesty.” 

Volumnia with all humility explains that she 
has not merely the plea of curiosity to urge (in 
common with the giddy youth of her sex in gen¬ 
eral), but that she is perfectly dying with regret 
and interest for the darling man whose loss they 
all deplore. 

“ Very well, Volumnia,” returns Sir Leicester. 

Then you cannot be too discreet.” 

Mr. Bucket takes the opportunity of a pause to 
be heard again. 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I have no ob¬ 
jections to telling this lady, with your leave and 
among ourselves, that I look upon the case as 
pretty well complete. It is a beautiful case — a 
beautiful case — and what little is wanting to com¬ 
plete it, I expect to be able to supply in a few 
hours.” 

I am very glad indeed to hear it,” says Sir 
Leicester. “ Highly creditable to you.” 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” returns Mr. 
Bucket, very seriously, “ I hope it may at one 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


149 


and the same time do me credit, and prove satis¬ 
factory to all. When I depict it as a beautiful 
case, you see, miss,^’ Mr. Bucket goes on, glancing 
gravely at Sir Leicester, “ I mean from my point 
of view. As considered from other points of view, 
such cases will always involve more or less un¬ 
pleasantness. Very strange things comes to our 
knowledge in families, miss; bless your heart, what 
you would think to be phenomenons, quite. 

Volumnia, with her innocent little scream, sup¬ 
poses so. 

“ Aye, and even in gen-teel families, in high 
families, in great families,” says Mr. Bucket, again 
gravely eying Sir Leicester aside. “ I have had 
the honor of being employed in high families be¬ 
fore; and you have no idea — come. I’ll go so 
far as to say not even you have any idea, sir,’^ this 
to the debilitated cousin, “what games goes on! ” 

The cousin, who has been casting sofa-pillows 
on his head, in a prostration of boredom, yawns, 
“ Vayli ” — being the used-up for “ very likely.” 

Sir Leicester, deeming it time to dismiss the 
officer, here majestically interposes with the words, 
“ Very good. Thank you! ” and also with a wave 
of his hand, implying not only that there is an 
end of the discourse, but that if high families fall 
into low habits they must take the consequences. 
“ You will not forget, officer,” he adds, with con- 


150 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

descension, “ that I am at your disposal when you 
please.” 

Mr. Bucket (still grave) inquires if to-morrow 
morning, now, would suit, in case he should be 
as for’ard as he expects to be? Sir Leicester re¬ 
plies, All times are alike to me.” Mr. Bucket 
makes his three bows, and is withdrawing, when 
a forgotten point occurs to him. 

‘‘ Might I ask, by-the-bye,” he says, in a low 
voice, cautiously returning, “ who posted the re¬ 
ward-bill on the staircase.” 

I ordered it to be put up there,” replies Sir 
Leicester. 

“ Would it be considered a liberty, Sir Leicester 
Dedlock, Baronet, if I was to ask you why? ” 

“ Not at all. I chose it as a conspicuous part 
of the house. I think it cannot be too prominently 
kept before the whole establishment. I wish my 
people to be impressed with the enormity of the 
crime, the determination to punish it, and the 
hopelessness of escape. At the same time, officer, 
if you in your better knowledge of the subject see 
any objection —^— ” 

Mr. Bucket sees none now; the bill having been 
put up, had better not be taken down. Repeating 
his three bows he withdraws: closing the door on 
Volumnia’s little scream, which is a preliminary 



INSPECTOR BUCKET 


151 

to her remarking that that charmingly horrible 
person is a perfect Blue Chamber. 

In his fondness for society, and his adaptability 
to all grades, Mr. Bucket is presently standing be^ 
fore the hall-fire — bright and warm on the early 
winter night — admiring Mercury. 

“ Why, you^re six foot two, I suppose? ’’ says 
Mr. Bucket. 

Three,” says Mercury. 

‘‘ Are you so much? But then, you see, you’re 
broad in proportion, and don’t look it. You’re 
not one of the weak-legged ones, you ain’t. Was 
you ever modeled now? ” Mr. Bucket asks, con¬ 
veying the expression of an artist into the turn 
of his eye and head. 

Mercury never was modeled. 

“ Then you ought to be, you know,” says Mr. 
Bucket; “ and a friend of mine that you’ll hear 
of one day as a Royal Academy sculptor, would 
stand something handsome to make a drawing of 
your proportions for the marble. My Lady’s out, 
ain’t she? ” 

“ Out to dinner.” 

“ Goes out pretty well every day, don’t she? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Not to be wondered at! ” says Mr. Bucket. 
“ Such a fine woman as her, so handsome and so 


152 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

graceful and so elegant, is like a fresh lemon on 
a dinner-table, ornamental wherever she goes. Was 
your father in the same way of life as yourself? 

Answer in the negative. 

“ Mine was,” says Mr. Bucket. “ My father 
was first a page, then a footman, then a butler, 
then a steward, then an innkeeper. Lived uni¬ 
versally respected, and died lamented. Said with 
his last breath that he considered service the most 
honorable part of his career, and so it was. IVe 
a brother in the service, and a brother-in-law. My 
Lady a good temper? ” 

Mercury replies, “ As good as you can expect.” 

‘‘Ah! ” says Mr. Bucket, “a little spoilt? A 
little capricious? Lord! What can you anticipate 
when they are so handsome as that? And we like 
’em all the better for it, don’t we? ” 

Mercury, with his hands in the pockets of his 
bright peach-blossom small-clothes, stretches his 
symmetrical silky legs with the air of a man of 
gallantry, and can^t deny it. Come the roll of 
wheels, and a violent ringing at the bell. “ Talk 
of the angels,” says Mr. Bucket. “Here she is! ” 

The doors are thrown open, and she passes 
through the hall. Still very pale, she is dressed 
in slight mourning, and wears two beautiful brace¬ 
lets. Either their beauty, or the beauty of her 
arms, is particularly attractive to Mr. Bucket. He 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


153 


looks at them with an eager eye, and rattles some¬ 
thing in his pockets — halfpence perhaps. 

Noticing him at his distance, she turns an in¬ 
quiring look on the other Mercury who has brought 
her home. 

“ Mr. Bucket, my Lady.” 

Mr. Bucket makes a leg, and comes forward, 
passing his familiar demon over the region of his 
mouth. 

“ Are you waiting to see Sir Leicester? ” 

“ No, my Lady, IVe seen him! ” 

“ Have you anything to say to me? ” 

“ Not just at present, my Lady.” 

“ Have you made any new discoveries? ” 

“ A few, my Lady,” 

This is merely in passing. She scarcely makes 
a stop, and sweeps upstairs alone. Mr. Bucket, 
moving towards the staircase foot, watches her as 
she goes up the steps the old man came down to 
his grave; past murderous groups of statuary, re¬ 
peated with their shadowy weapons on the wall; 
past the printed bill, which she looks at going by; 
out of view. 

“ She’s a lovely woman, too, she really is,” says 
Mr. Bucket, coming back to Mercury. “ Don’t 
look quite healthy though.” 

Is not quite healthy. Mercury informs him. 
Suffers much from headaches. 


154 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Really? That’s a pity! Walking Mr. Bucket 
would recommend for that. Well, she tries walk¬ 
ing, Mercury rejoins. Walks sometimes for two 
hours, when she has them bad. By night too. 

“ Are you sure you’re quite so much as six. foot 
three? ” asks Mr. Bucket, “ begging your pardon 
for interrupting you a moment? ” 

Not a doubt about it. 

“ You’re so well put together that I shouldn’t 
have thought it. But the household troops, though 
considered fine men, are built so straggling. — 
Walks by night, does she? When it’s moonlight, 
though? ” 

O yes. When it’s moonlight! Of course. O, 
of course! Conversational and acquiescent on 
both sides. 

“ I suppose you ain’t in the habit of walking 
yourself? ” says Mr. Bucket. Not much time 
for it, I should say? ” 

Besides which. Mercury don’t like it. Prefers 
carriage exercise. 

“ To be sure,” says Mr. Bucket. “ That makes 
a difference. Now I think of it,” says Mr. Bucket, 
warming his hands, and looking pleasantly at the 
blaze, ‘‘ she went out walking, the very night of 
this business.” 

“To be sure she did! I let her into the gar¬ 
den over the way.” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


155 


“ And left her there. Certainly you did. I saw 
you doing it.’’ 

“ I didn’t see you,” says Mercury. 

“ I was rather in a hurry,” returns Mr. Bucket, 
“ for I was going to visit a aunt of mine that lives 
at Chelsea — next door but two to the old original 
Bun House — ninety year old the old lady is, a 
single woman, and got a little property. Yes, I 
chanced to be passing at the time. Let’s see. 
What time might it be? It wasn’t ten.” 

Half-past nine.” 

“ You’re right. So it was. And if I don’t de¬ 
ceive myself, my Lady was muffled in a loose black 
mantle, with a deep fringe to it? ” 

“ Of course she was.” 

Of course she was. Mr. Bucket must return to 
a little work he has to get on with upstairs; but 
he must shake hands with Mercury, in acknowl¬ 
edgment of his agreeable conversation, and will he 
— this is all he asks — will he, when he has a 
leisure half-hour, think of bestowing it on that 
Royal Academy sculptor, for the advantage of both 
parties? 

Refreshed by sleep, Mr. Bucket rises betimes in 
the morning, and prepares for a field-day. Smart¬ 
ened up by the aid of a clean shirt, and a wet 


156 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

hairbrush, with which instrument, on occasions of 
ceremony, he lubricates such thin locks as remain 
to him after his life of severe study, Mr. Bucket 
lays in a breakfast of two mutton chops as a 
foundation to work upon, together with tea, eggs, 
toast, and marmalade on a corresponding scale. 
Having much enjoyed these strengthening matters, 
and having held subtle conference with his famil¬ 
iar demon, he confidently instructs Mercury “ just 
to mention quietly to Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baro¬ 
net, that whenever he’s ready for me, I’m ready 
for him.” A gracious message being returned that 
Sir Leicester will expedite his dressing and join 
Mr. Bucket in the library within ten minutes, Mr. 
Bucket repairs to that apartment; and stands be¬ 
fore the fire, with his finger on his chin, looking 
at the blazing coals. 

Thoughtful Mr. Bucket is; as a man may be, 
with weighty work to do; but composed, sure, 
confident. From the expression of his face, he 
might be a famous whist-player for a large stake 
— say a hundred guineas certain — with the game 
in his hand, but with a high reputation involved 
in his playing his hand out to the last card, in a 
masterly way. Not in the least anxious or dis¬ 
turbed is Mr. Bucket when Sir Leicester appears; 
but he eyes the baronet aside as he comes slowly 
to his easy-chair, with that observant gravity of 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


157 


yesterday, in which there might have been, but for 
the audacity of the idea, a touch of compassion. 

“ I am sorry to have kept you waiting, officer,, 
but I am rather later than my usual hour this 
morning. I am not well. The agitation, and the 
indignation from which I have recently suffered, 
have been too much for me. I am subject to — 
gout ”; Sir Leicester was going to say indisposi¬ 
tion, and would have said it to anybody else, but 
Mr. Bucket palpably knows all about it; “and 
recent circumstances have brought it on.” 

As he takes his seat with some difficulty, and 
with an air of pain, Mr. Bucket draws a little 
nearer, standing with one of his large hands on 
the library-table. 

“ I am not aware, officer,” Sir Leicester observes, 
raising his eyes to his face, “ whether you wish 
us to be alone; but that is entirely as you please. 
If you do, well and good. If not, Miss Dedlock 
would be interested-” 

“ Why, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” returns 
Mr. Bucket, with his head persuasively on one 
side, and his forefinger pendant at one ear like 
an ear-ring, “ we can’t be too private just at 
present. You will presently see that we can’t be 
too private. A lady, under the circumstances, and 
especially in Miss Dedlock’s elevated station of 
society, can’t but be agreeable to me; but speak- 



iS8 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

ing without a view to myself, I will take the liberty 
of assuring you that I know we can’t be too 
private.” 

“ That is enough.” 

“ So much so, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” 
Mr. Bucket resumes, “ that I was on the point of 
asking your permission to turn the key in the 
door.” 

“ By all means.” Mr. Bucket skillfully and 
softly takes that precaution; stooping on his knee 
for a moment, from mere force of habit, so to ad¬ 
just the key in the lock as that no one shall peep 
in from the outer side. 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I mentioned 
yesterday evening, that I wanted but a very little 
to complete this case. I have now completed it, 
and collected proof against the person who did 
this crime.” 

“ Against the soldier? ” 

“ No, Sir Leicester Dedlock; not the soldier.” 

Sir Leicester looks astounded, and inquires, “ Is 
the man in custody? ” 

Mr. Bucket tells him, after a pause, “ It was 
a woman.” 

Sir Leicester leans back in his chair, and breath¬ 
lessly ejaculates, “ Good Heaven! ” 

“ Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” Mr. 
Bucket begins, standing over him with one hand 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


159 


spread out on the library-table, and the forefinger 
of the other in impressive use, “ It’s my duty to 
prepare you for a train of circumstances that may, 
and I go so far as to say that will, give you a 
shock. But, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, you 
are a gentleman; and I know what a gentleman is, 
and what a gentleman is capable of. A gentleman 
can bear a shock, when it must come, boldly and 
steadily. A gentleman can make up his mind to 
stand up against almost any blow. Why, take 
yourself. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. If 
there’s a blow to be inflicted on you, you natu¬ 
rally think of your family. You bear it well on 
their accounts, and to maintain the family credit. 
That’s the way you argue, and that’s the way you 
act. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.” 

Sir Leicester, leaning back in his chair, and 
grasping the elbows, sits looking at him with a 
stony face. 

“Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock,” proceeds Mr. 
Bucket, “ thus preparing you, let me beg of you 
not to trouble your mind, for a moment, as to any¬ 
thing having come to my knowledge. I know so 
much about so many characters, high and low, 
that a piece of information more or less, don’t sig¬ 
nify a straw. I don’t suppose there’s a move on 
the board that would surprise me; and as to this 
or that move having taken place, why, my know- 


i6o GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

ing it is no odds at all; any possible move what¬ 
ever (provided it’s in the wrong direction) being 
a probable move according to my experience. 
Therefore, what I say to you, Sir Leicester Ded- 
lock. Baronet, is, don’t you go and let yourself 
be put out of the way, because of my knowing 
anything of your family affairs.” 

“ I thank you for your preparation,” returns 
Sir Leicester, after a silence, without moving hand, 
foot, or feature; which I hope is not necessary, 
though I give it credit for being well intended. 
Be so good as to go on. Also; ” Sir Leicester 
seems to shrink in the shadow of his figure; “ also 
take a seat, if you have no objection.” 

None at all. Mr. Bucket brings a chair, and 
diminishes his shadow. “ Now, Sir Leicester Ded- 
lock. Baronet, with this short preface I come to 
the point. Lady Dedlock-” 

Sir Leicester raises himself in his seat, and 
stares at him fiercely. Mr. Bucket brings the 
finger into play as an emollient. 

“ Lady Dedlock, you see she’s universally ad¬ 
mired. That’s what her Ladyship is; she’s uni¬ 
versally admired,” says Mr. Bucket. 

“ I would greatly prefer, officer,” Sir Leicester 
returns, stiffly, “ my Lady’s name being entirely 
omitted from this discussion.” 

“ So would I, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, 
but — it’s impossible.” 



INSPECTOR BUCKET i6i 

“ Impossible? ” 

Mr. Bucket shakes his relentless head. 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it’s altogether 
impossible. What I have got to say is about her 
Ladyship. She is the pivot it all turns on.” 

“ Officer,” retorts Sir Leicester, with a fiery eye, 
and a quivering lip, “ you know your duty. Do 
your duty; but be careful not to overstep it. I 
would not suffer it. I would not endure it. You 
bring my Lady’s name into this communication, 
upon your responsibility — upon your responsibil¬ 
ity. My Lady’s name is not a name for common 
persons to trifle with! ” 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I say what I 
must say; and no more.” 

I hope it may prove so. Very well. Go on. 
Go on, sir! ” 

Glancing at the angry eyes which now avoid 
him, and at the angry figure trembling from head 
to foot, yet striving to be still, Mr. Bucket feels 
his way with his forefinger, and in a low voice 
proceeds. 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it becomes my 
duty to tell you that the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn 
long entertained mistrust and suspicions of Lady 
Dedlock.” 

If he had dared to breathe them to me, sir — 
which he never did — I would have killed him my¬ 
self! ” exclaims Sir Leicester, striking his hand 


i 62 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


upon the table. But in the very heat and fury of 
the act, he stops, fixed by the knowing eyes of Mr. 
Bucket, whose forefinger is slowly going, and who, 
with mingled confidence and patience, shakes his 
head. 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, the deceased Mr. Tulk- 
inghorn was deep and close; and what he fully 
had in his mind in the very beginning, I can’t 
take upon myself to say. But I know from his 
lips, that he long ago suspected Lady Dedlock 
of having discovered, through the sight of some 
handwriting — in this very house, and when you 
yourself. Sir Leicester Dedlock, were present — 
the existence, in great poverty, of a certain person, 
who had been her lover before you courted her, 
and who ought to have been her husband;” Mr. 
Bucket stops, and deliberately repeats, “ ought to 
have been her husband; not a doubt about it. I 
know from his lips, that when that person soon 
afterwards died, he suspected Lady Dedlock of 
visiting his wretched lodging, and his wretched 
grave alone, and in secret. I know from my own 
inquiries, and through my eyes and ears, that Lady 
Dedlock did make such visit, in the dress of her 
own maid; for the deceased Mr. Tulkinghom em¬ 
ployed me to reckon up her Ladyship — if you’ll 
excuse my making use of the term we commonly 
employ — and I reckoned her up, so far, com- 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


163 

pletely. I confronted the maid, in the chambers 
in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, with a witness who had 
been Lady Dedlock’s guide; and there couldn’t be 
the shadow of a doubt that she had worn the young 
woman’s dress, unknown to her. Sir Leicester 
Dedlock, Baronet, I did endeavor to pave the way 
a little towards these unpleasant disclosures, yes¬ 
terday, by saying that very strange things hap¬ 
pened even in high families sometimes. All this, 
and more, has happened in your own family, and to 
and through your own Lady. It is my belief that 
the deceased Mr. Tulkinghom followed up these 
inquiries to the hour of his death; and that he and 
Lady Dedlock even had bad blood between them 
upon the matter that very night. Now, only you 
put that to Lady Dedlock, Sir Leicester Dedlock, 
Baronet; and ask her Ladyship whether, even after 
he had left here, she didn’t go down to his chambers 
with the intention of saying something further to 
him, dressed in a loose black mantle with a deep 
fringe to it.” 

Sir Leicester sits like a statue, gazing at the 
cruel finger that is probing the life-blood of his 
heart. 

“ You put that to her Ladyship, Sir Leicester 
Dedlock, Baronet, from me. Inspector Bucket of 
the Detective. And if her Ladyship makes any 
difficulty about admitting of it, you tell her that it’s 


i 64 great detective STORIES 

no use; that Inspector Bucket knows it, and knows 
that she passed the soldier as you called him 
(though he’s not in the army now), and knows that 
she knows she passed him, on the staircase. Now, 
Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, why do I relate 
all this? ” 

Sir Leicester, who has covered his face with his 
hands, uttering a single groan, requests him to 
pause for a moment. By-and-by he takes his hands 
away; and so preserves his dignity and outward 
calmness, though there is no more color in his face 
than in his white hair, that Mr. Bucket is a little 
awed by him. Something frozen and fixed is upon 
his manner, over and above its usual shell of 
haughtiness; and Mr. Bucket soon detects an un¬ 
usual slowness in his speech, with now and then a 
curious trouble in beginning, which occasions him 
to utter inarticulate sounds. With such sounds, 
he now breaks silence; soon, however, controlling 
himself to say, that he does not comprehend why a 
gentleman so faithful and zealous as the late Mr. 
Tulkinghorn should have communicated to him 
nothing of this painful, this distressing, this un¬ 
looked-for, this overwhelming, this incredible in¬ 
telligence. 

“ Again, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” returns 
Mr. Bucket, put it to her Ladyship to clear that 
up. Put it to her Ladyship, if you think it right, 
from Inspector Bucket of the Detective. You’ll 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


165 


find, or I’m much mistaken, that the deceased Mr. 
Tulkinghorn had the intention of communicating 
the whole to you, as soon as he considered it ripe; 
and further, that he had given her Ladyship so to 
understand. Why, he might have been going to 
reveal it the very morning when I examined the 
body! You don’t know what I’m going to say and 
do, five minutes from this present time, Sir Leices¬ 
ter Dedlock, Baronet; and supposing I was to be 
picked off now, you might wonder why I hadn’t 
done it, don’t you see? ” 

Sir Leicester seems to wake, though his eyes have 
been wide open; and he looks intently at Mr. 
Bucket, as Mr. Bucket refers to his watch. 

“ The party to be apprehended is now in this 
house,” proceeds Mr. Bucket, putting up his watch 
with a steady hand, and with rising spirits, and 
I’m about to take her into custody in your presence. 
Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, don’t you say a 
word, nor yet stir. There’ll be no noise, and no 
disturbance at all. I’ll come back in the course of 
the evening, if agreeable to you, and endeavor to 
meet your wishes respecting this unfortunate family 
matter, and the nobbiest way of keeping it quiet. 
Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, don’t you be 
nervous on account of the apprehension at present 
coming off. You shall see the whole case clear, 
from first to last.” 

Mr. Bucket rings, goes to the door, briefly whis- 


i66 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


pers Mercury, shuts the door, and stands behind it 
with his arms folded. After a suspense of a minute 
or two, the door slowly opens, and a Frenchwoman 
enters. Mademoiselle Hortense. 

The moment she is in the room, Mr. Bucket 
claps the door to, and puts his back up against it. 
The suddenness of the noise occasions her to turn; 
and then, for the first time she sees Sir Leicester 
Dedlock in his chair. 

“ I ask you pardon,” she mutters hurriedly. 
“ They tell me there was no one here.” 

Her step towards the door brings her front to 
front with Mr. Bucket. Suddenly a spasm shoots 
across her face, and she turns deadly pale. 

“ This is my lodger. Sir Leicester Dedlock,” says 
Mr. Bucket, nodding at her. This foreign young 
woman has been my lodger for some weeks back.” 

“ What do Sir Leicester care for that, you think, 
my angel? ” returns Mademoiselle, in a jocular 
strain. 

“ Why, my angel,” returns Mr. Bucket, “ we 
shall see.” 

Mademoiselle Hortense eyes him with a scowl 
upon her tight face, which generally changes into a 
smile of scorn. You are very mysterieuse. Are 
you drunk? ” 

“ Tolerable sober, my angel,” returns Mr. 
Bucket. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


167 

“ I come from arriving at this so detestable house 
with your wife. Your wife have left me since 
some minutes. They tell me downstairs that your 
wife is here. I come here, and your wife is not 
here. What is the intention of this fool’s play, 
say then? ” Mademoiselle demands, with her arms 
composedly crossed, but with something in her dark 
cheek beating like a clock. 

Mr. Bucket merely shakes the finger at her. 

“ Ah, my God, you are an unhappy idiot! ” cries 
Mademoiselle, with a toss of her head and a laugh. 
— “ Leave me to pass downstairs, great pig.” 
With a stamp of her foot, and a menace. 

“Now, Mademoiselle,” says Mr. Bucket, in a 
cool determined way, “ you go and sit down upon 
that sofy.” 

“ I will not sit down upon nothing,” she replies, 
with a shower of nods. 

“ Now, Mademoiselle,” repeats Mr. Bucket, mak¬ 
ing no demonstration, except with the finger, “ you 
sit down upon that sofy.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ Because I take you into custody on the charge 
of murder, and you don’t need to be told it. Now, 
I want to be polite to one of your sex and a for¬ 
eigner, if I can. If I can’t I must be rough; and 
there’s rougher ones outside. What I am to be 
depends on you. So I recommend you, as a friend, 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


168 

afore another half a blessed moment has passed 
over your head, to go and sit down upon the sofy.” 

Mademoiselle complies, saying in a concentrated 
voice, while that something in her cheek beats 
fast and hard, “ You are a Devil.” 

“ Now, you see,” Mr. Bucket proceeds approv¬ 
ingly, “ you’re more comfortable, and conducting 
yourself as I should expect a foreign young woman 
of your sense to do. So I’ll give you a piece of 
advice, and it’s this. Don’t you talk too much. 
You’re not expected to say anything here, and you 
can’t keep too quiet a tongue in your head. In 
short, the less you Parlay, the better, you know.” 
Mr. Bucket is very complacent over this French 
explanation. 

Mademoiselle, with that tigerish expansion of 
the mouth, and her black eyes darting fire upon 
him, sits upright on the sofa in a rigid state, with 
her hands clenched — and her feet too, one might 
suppose — muttering, “ O, you Bucket, you are a 
Devil! ” 

Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” says 
Mr. Bucket, and from this time forth the finger 
never rests, “ this young woman, my lodger, was 
her Ladyship’s maid at the time I have mentioned 
to you; and this young woman, besides being ex¬ 
traordinary vehement and passionate against her 
Ladyship after being discharged-” 



INSPECTOR BUCKET i6g 

Lie! ’’ cries Mademoiselle. “ I discharged my¬ 
self.” 

“ Now, why don’t you take my advice? ” returns 
Mr. Bucket, in an impressive, almost in afi implor¬ 
ing tone. “ I’m surprised at the indiscreetness you 
commit. You’ll say something that’ll be used 
against you, you know. You’re sure to come to 
it. Never you mind what I say till it’s given in 
evidence. It is not addressed to you.” 

Discharge, too! ” cries Mademoiselle, furiously, 
by her Ladyship! Eh, my faith, a pretty Lady¬ 
ship! Why, I r-r-r-ruin my character by remaining 
with a Ladyship so infame! ” 

Upon my soul I wonder at you! ” Mr. Bucket 
remonstrates. “ I thought the French were a po¬ 
lite nation, I did, really. Yet to hear a female 
going on like that, before Sir Leicester Dedlock, 
Baronet! ” 

He is a poor abused! ” cries Mademoiselle. 
“ I spit upon his house, upon his name, upon his 
imbecility,” all of which she makes the carpet 
represent. “ Oh, that he is a great man! O yes, 
superb! O Heaven! Bah! ” 

“Well, Sir Leicester Dedlock,” proceeds Mr. 
Bucket, “ this intemperate foreigner also angrily 
took it into her head that she established a claim 
upon Mr. Tulkinghorn deceased, by attending on 
the occasion I told you of, at his chambers; though 


170 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


she was liberally paid for her time and trouble.” 

“ Lie! ” cries Mademoiselle. I ref-use his 
money altogezzer.” 

(“ If you will Parlay, you know,” says Mr. 
Bucket, parenthetically, “ you must take the con¬ 
sequences.) Now, whether she became my lodger. 
Sir Leicester Dedlock, with any deliberate intention 
then of doing this deed and blinding me, I give 
no opinion on; but she lived in my house, in that 
capacity, at the time that she was hovering about 
the chambers of the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn with 
a view to a wrangle, and likewise persecuting and 
half frightening the life out of an unfortunate 
stationer.” 

“ Lie! ” cries Mademoiselle. “ All lie! ” 

“ The murder was committed. Sir Leicester Ded¬ 
lock, Baronet, and you know under what circum¬ 
stances. Now, I beg of you to follow me close 
with your attention for a minute or two. I was 
sent for, and the case was intrusted to me. I ex¬ 
amined the place, and the body, and the papers, 
and everything. From information I received 
(from a clerk in the same house) I took George 
the soldier into custody, as having been seen 
hanging about there, on the night, and at very 
nigh the time, of the murder, also, as having been 
overheard in high words with the deceased on 
former occasions — even threatening him, as the 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


171 

witness made out. If you ask me, Sir Leicester 
Dedlock, whether from the first I believed George 
to be the murderer, I tell you candidly No; but he 
might be, notwithstanding; and there was enough 
against him to make it my duty to take him, and 
get him kept under remand. Now observe! ” 

As Mr. Bucket bends forward in some excite¬ 
ment — for him — and inaugurates what he is go¬ 
ing to say with one ghostly beat of his forefinger 
in the air, Mademoiselle Hortense fixes her black 
eyes upon him with a dark frown, and sets her dry 
lips closely and firmly together. 

I went home. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, 
at night, and found this young woman having sui> 
per with my wife, Mrs. Bucket. She had made a 
mighty show of being fond of Mrs. Bucket from her 
first offering herself as our lodger, but that night 
she made more than ever — in fact, overdid it. 
Likewise, she overdid her respect, and all that, for 
the lamented memory of the deceased Mr. Tulk- 
inghom. By the living Lord, it flashed upon me, 
as I sat opposite to her at the table and saw her 
with a knife in her hand, that she had done it! ” 
Mademoiselle is hardly audible, in straining 
through her teeth and lips the words “ You are a 
Devil.” 

“ Now where,” pursues Mr. Bucket, had she 
been on the the night of the murder? She had 


172 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


been to the theayter. (She really was there, I 
have since found, both before the deed and after 
it.) I knew I had an artful customer to deal with, 
and that proof would be very difficult; and I laid 
a trap for her — such a trap as I never laid yet, 
and such a venture as I never made yet. I worked 
it out in my mind while I was talking to her at 
supper. When I went upstairs to bed, our house 
being small and this young woman’s ears sharp, I 
stuffed the sheet into Mrs. Bucket’s mouth that 
she shouldn’t say a word of surprise, and told her 
all about it. — My dear, don’t you give your mind 
to that again, or I shall link your feet together at 
the ankles.” Mr. Bucket, breaking off has made 
a noiseless descent upon Mademoiselle, and laid 
his heavy hand upon her shoulder. 

“ What is the matter with you now? ” she asked 
him. 

“ Don’t you think any more,” returns Mr. 
Bucket, with admonitory finger, “ of throwing your¬ 
self out of the window. That’s what’s the matter 
with me. Come! Just take my arm. You needn’t 
get up; I’ll sit down by you. Now take my arm, 
will you? I’m a married man, you know; you’re 
acquainted with my wife. Just take my arm.” 

Vainly endeavoring to moisten those dry lips, 
with a painful sound, she struggles with herself and 
complies. 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


173 


“Now we’re all right again. Sir Leicester Ded- 
lock, Baronet, this case could never have been the 
case it is, but for Mrs. Bucket, who is a woman 
in fifty thousand — in a hundred and fifty thou¬ 
sand! To throw this young woman off her guard, 
I have never set foot in our house since; though 
IVe communicated with Mrs. Bucket, in the 
baker’s loaves and in the milk, as often as required. 
My whispered words to Mrs. Bucket, when she 
had the sheet in her mouth, were, ‘My dear, can 
you throw her off continually with natural accounts 
of my suspicions against George, and this, and that, 
and t’other? Can you do without rest, and keep 
watch upon her, night and day? Can you undertake 
to say. She shall do nothing without my knowledge, 
she shall be my prisoner without suspecting it, she 
shall no more escape from me than from death, 
and her life shall be my life, and her soul my soul, 
till I have got her, if she did this murder? ’ Mrs. 
Bucket says to me, as well as she could speak, on 
account of the sheet, ‘ Bucket, I can! ’ And she 
has acted up to it glorious! ” 

“ Lies! ” Mademoiselle interposes. “ All lies, 
my friend! ” 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, how did my 
calculations come out under these circumstances? 
When I calculated that this impetuous young 
woman would overdo it in new directions, was I 


174 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


wrong or right? I was right. What does she try to 
do? Don’t let it give you a turn. To throw the 
murder on her Ladyship.” 

Sir Leicester rises from his chair, and staggers 
down again. 

“ And she got encouragement in it from hearing 
that I was always here, which was done a’ purpose. 
Now, open that pocket-book of mine, Sir Leicester 
Dedlock, if I may take the liberty of throwing it 
towards you, and look at the letters sent to me, 
each with the two words. Lady Dedlock, in it. 
Open the one directed to yourself, which I stopped 
this very morning, and read the three words. Lady 
Dedlock, Mukdekess, in it. These letters have 
been falling about like a shower of lady-birds. 
What do you say now to Mrs. Bucket, from her 
spy-place, having seen them all written by this 
young woman? What do you say to Mrs. Bucket 
having, within this half-hour, secured the corre¬ 
sponding ink and paper, fellow half-sheets and what 
not? What do you say to Mrs. Bucket having 
watched the posting of ’em every one by this young 
woman. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet? ” Mr. 
Bucket asks, triumphant in his admiration of his 
lady’s genius. 

Two things are especially observable, as Mr. 
Bucket proceeds to a conclusion. First, that he 
seems imperceptibly to establish a dreadful right 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


175 


of property in Mademoiselle. Secondly, that the 
very atmosphere she breathes seems to narrow and 
contract about her, as if a close net, or a pall, were 
being drawn nearer and yet nearer around her 
breathless figure. 

“ There is no doubt that her Ladyship was on 
the spot at the eventful period,’^ says Mr. Bucket; 
“ and my foreign friend here saw her, I believe, 
from the upper part of the staircase. Her Ladyship 
and George and my foreign friend were all pretty 
close on one another’s heels. But that don’t signify 
any more, so I’ll not go into it. I found the wad¬ 
ding of the pistol with which the deceased Mr. 
Tulkinghom was shot. It was a bit of the printed 
description of your house at Chesney Wold. Not 
much in that, you’ll say. Sir Leicester Dedlock, 
Baronet. No. But when my foreign friend here 
is so thoroughly off her guard as to think it a safe 
time to tear up the rest of that leaf, and when 
Mrs. Bucket puts the pieces together and finds the 
wadding wanting, it begins to look like Queer 
Street.” 

“ These are very long lies,” Mademoiselle inter¬ 
poses. “You prose great deal. Is it that you 
have almost all finished, or are you speaking al¬ 
ways? ” 

“ Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” proceeds Mr. 
Bucket, who delights in a full title, and does vio- 


176 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

lence to himself when he dispenses with any frag¬ 
ment of it, the last point in the case which I am 
now going to mention, shows the necessity of pa¬ 
tience in our business, and never doing a thing in 
a hurry. I watched this young woman yesterday, 
without her knowledge, when she was looking at 
the funeral, in company with my wife, who planned 
to take her there; and I had so much to convict 
her, and I saw such an expression in her face, and 
my mind so rose against her malice towards her 
Ladyship, and the time was altogether such a 
time for bringing down what you may call retribu¬ 
tion upon her, that if I had been a younger hand 
with less experience, I should have taken her, 
certain. Equally, last night, when her Ladyship, 
as is so universally admired I am sure, come home, 
looking — why. Lord! a man might almost say 
like Venus rising from the ocean, it was so un¬ 
pleasant and inconsistent to think of her being 
charged with a murder of which she was innocent, 
that I felt quite to want to put an end to this job. 
What should I have lost? Sir Leicester Dedlock, 
Baronet, I should have lost the weapon. My pris¬ 
oner here proposed to Mrs. Bucket, after the de¬ 
parture of the funeral, that they should go, per 
bus, a little ways into the country, and take tea 
at a very decent house of entertainment. Now, 
near that house of entertainment there’s a piece of 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


177 


water. At tea, my prisoner got up to fetch her 
pocket-handkercher from the bedroom where the 
bonnets was; she was rather a long time gone, and 
came back a little out of wind. As soon as they 
came home this was reported to me by Mrs. 
Bucket, along with her observations and suspicions. 
I had the piece of water dragged by moonlight, in 
presence of a couple of our men, and the pocket- 
pistol was brought up before it had been there a 
half a dozen hours. Now, my dear, put your arm 
a little further through mine, and hold it steady, 
and I shan’t hurt you! ” 

In a trice Mr. Bucket snaps a handcuff on her 
wrist. That’s one,” says Mr. Bucket. Now 
the other, darling. Two, and all told! ” 

He rises; she rises too. “ Where,” she asks him, 
darkening her large eyes until their drooping lids 
almost conceal them — and yet they stare, “ where 
is your false, your treacherous and cursed wife? ” 
“ She’s gone forard to the Police Office,” re¬ 
turns Mr. Bucket. You’ll see her there, my 
dear.” 

I would like to kiss her! ” exclaims Made¬ 
moiselle Hortense, panting tigress-like. 

“ You’d bite her, I suspect,” says Mr. Bucket. 
“ I would! ” making her eyes very large. “ I 
would love to tear her, limb from limb.”. 

“ Bless you, darling,” says Mr. Bucket, with the 


178 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

greatest composure; I am fully prepared to hear 
that. Your sex have such a surprising animosity 
against one another, when you do differ. You 
don’t mind me half so much, do you? ” 

“ No. Though you are a devil still.” 

“ Angel and devil by turns, eh? ” cries Mr. 
Bucket. But I am in my regular employment, 
you must consider. Let me put your shawl tidy. 
I’ve been lady’s maid to a good many before now. 
Anything wanting to the bonnet? There’s a cab 
at the door.” 

Mademoiselle Hortense, casting an indignant eye 
at the glass, shakes herself perfectly neat in one 
shake, and looks, to do her justice, uncommonly 
genteel. 

Listen then, my angel,” says she, after several 
sarcastic nods: “ You are very spiritual. But can 
you restore him back to life? ” 

Mr. Bucket answers, “ Not exactly.” 

“ That is droll. Listen yet one time. You are 
very spiritual. Can you make an honorable lady 
of Her? ” 

“ Don’t be so malicious,” says Mr. Bucket. 

“ Or a haughty gentleman of Him? ” cries Made¬ 
moiselle, referring to Sir Leicester with ineffable 
disdain. “Eh! O then regard him! The poor in¬ 
fant! Ha! ha! ha! ” 


INSPECTOR BUCKET 


179 


“ Come, come, why, this is worse parlaying than 
the other,” says Mr. Bucket. “ Come along! ” 

“ You cannot do these things? Then you can 
do as you please with me. It is but the death, it is 
all the same. Let us go, my angel. Adieu you old 
man, gray. I pity you, and I des-pise you! ” 

With these last words, she snaps her teeth to¬ 
gether, as if her mouth closed with a spring. It 
is impossible to describe how Mr. Bucket gets her 
out, but he accomplishes that feat in a manner so 
peculiar to himself; enfolding and pervading her 
like a cloud, and hovering away with her as if he 
were a homely Jupiter, and she the object of his 
affections. 

Sir Leicester, left alone, remains in the same 
attitude, as though he were still listening, and his 
attention were still occupied. At length he gazes 
round the empty room, and finding it deserted, 
rises unsteadily to his feet, pushes back his chair, 
and walks a few steps, supporting himself by the 
table. Then he stops; and, with more of those in¬ 
articulate sounds, lifts up his eyes and seems to 
stare at something. 

Heaven knows what he sees. The green, green 
woods of Chesney Wold, the noble house, the pic¬ 
tures of his forefathers, strangers defacing 
them, officers of police coarsely handling his 


i8o GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

most precious heirlooms, thousands of fingers point¬ 
ing at him, thousands of faces sneering at him. 
But if such shadows flit before him to his bewilder¬ 
ment, there is one other shadow which he can 
name with something like distinctness even yet, 
and to which alone he addresses his tearing of his 
white hair, and his extended arms. 

It is she, in association with whom, saving that 
she has been for years a main fiber of the root of 
his dignity and pride, he has never had a selfish 
thought. It is she whom he has loved, admired, 
honored, and set up for the world to respect. It 
is she, who, at the core of all the constrained 
formalities and conventionalities of his life, has 
been a stock of living tenderness and love, suscep¬ 
tible as nothing else is of being struck with the 
agony he feels. He sees her, almost to the exclu¬ 
sion of himself; and cannot bear to look upon her 
cast down from the high place she has graced so 
well. 

And, even to the point of his sinking on the 
ground oblivious of his suffering, he can yet pro¬ 
nounce her name with something like distinctness 
in the midst of those intrusive sounds, and in a 
tone of mourning and compassion rather than 
reproach. 


Sergeant Cuff 

WILKIE COLLINS 


The complete reorgamzation of the London 
Police Force under Sir Robert Peel was 
effected early in the thirties. Hence the term 
peelers ” which has been in common use on both 
sides of the Atlantic ever since. From this period 
dates the first-rate English detective, examples of 
whom have been preserved for posterity in the 
pages of Dickens and Wilkie Collins. Unique per¬ 
sonalities of the heroic type these men were ,— 
the originals well-known to their fictive creators. 
Inspector Field who appears as Inspector 
Bucket ” in “ Bleak House ” was a close personal 
friend of Charles Dickens who delighted in a night- 
ramble with him. ** Sergeant Cuff,** although we 
have no positive evidence, was undoubtedly quite 
as well-known to Wilkie Collins. He is unquestion¬ 
ably a first-hand portrait carefully studied from 
life — a unique, and strikingly original figure in 
the gallery of great detectives. The present story, 
condensed from “ The Moonstone,** introduces him 
the day after the great stone had been stolen from 
Miss Rachel Verinder to whom its original English 
possessor — her uncle — had bequeathed it at her 
aunt*s country-place in Yorkshire, 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 183 

On the afternoon of the previous day three In¬ 
dians attired as strolling jugglers had appeared on 
the lawn and asked leave to give their entertain¬ 
ment. 

As the sequel proves, these were the successors of 
the trio from whom Colonel Herncastle had ravished 
the diamond, and who had followed it to England. 
Sergeant Cuff of the Metropolitan Police Force is 
called in to unravel the mystery which he finally 
does in masterly style. 


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Sergeant Cuff 

From The Moonstone.” 

WILKIE COLLINS 

The Storming of Seringapatam (1799): 

{Extracted from a Family Paper.) 

I. 

I address these lines — written in India — to my 
relatives in England. 

My object is to explain the motive which has 
induced me to refuse the right hand of friendship 
to my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve which 
I have hitherto maintained in this matter has been 
misinterpreted by members of my family whose 
good opinion I cannot consent to forfeit. I request 
them to suspend their decision until they have read 
my narrative. And I declare, on my word of honor, 
that what I am now about to write is, strictly and 
literally, the truth. 

The private difference between my cousin and 
me took its rise in a great public event in which we 


i86 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


were both concerned — the storming of Seringa^ 
patam, under General Baird, on the 4th of May, 
1799 - 

In order that the circumstances may be clearly 
understood, I must revert for a moment to the 
period before the assault, and to the stories current 
in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold 
stored up in the Palace of Seringapatam. 


II. 

One of the wildest of these stories related to a 
Yellow Diamond — a famous gem in the native 
annals of India. 

The earliest known traditions describe the stone 
as having been set in the forehead of the four- 
handed Indian god who typifies the moon. Partly 
from its peculiar color, partly from a superstition 
which represented it as partaking of the nature of 
the deity whom it adorned, and growing and lessen¬ 
ing in luster with the waxing and waning of the 
moon, it first gained the name by which it con¬ 
tinues to be known in India to this day — the 
name of The Moonstone. A similar superstition 
was once prevalent, as I have heard, in ancient 
Greece and Rome; not applying, however (as in 
India), to a diamond devoted to the service of a 


SERGEANT CUFF 


187 


god, but to a semi-transparent stone of the inferior 
order of gems, supposed to be affected by the lunar 
influences—the moon, in this latter case also, 
giving the name by which the stone is still known 
to collectors in our own time. 

The adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin 
with the eleventh century of the Christian era. 

At that date the Mohammedan conqueror, Mah- 
mould of Ghizni, crossed India; seized on the holy 
city of Somnauth; and stripped of its treasures the 
famous temple which had stood for centuries — the 
shrine of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the 
eastern world. 

Of all the deities worshipped in the temple, the 
moon-god alone escaped the rapacity of the con¬ 
quering Mohammedans. Preserved by three Brah¬ 
mins, the inviolate deity, bearing the Yellow Dia¬ 
mond in its forehead, was removed by night, and 
was transported to the second of the sacred cities 
of India — the city of Benares. 

Here, in a new shrine — in a hall inlaid with 
precious stones, under a roof supported by pillars 
of gold — the moon-god was set up and worshipped. 
Here, on the night when the shrine was completed, 
Vishnu the Preserver appeared to the three Brah¬ 
mins in a dream. 

The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on 
the Diamond in the forehead of the god. And the 


i88 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Brahmins knelt and hid their faces in their robes. 
The deity commanded that the Moonstone should 
be watched, from that time forth, by three priests 
in turn, night and day, to the end of the genera¬ 
tions of men. And the Brahmins heard and bowed 
before his will. The deity predicted certain dis¬ 
aster to the presumptuous mortal who laid hands 
on the sacred gem, and to all of his house and name 
who received it after him. And the Brahmins 
caused the prophecy to be written over the gates 
of the shrine in letters of gold. 

One age followed another — and still, generation 
after generation, the successors of the three Brah¬ 
mins watched their priceless Moonstone, night and 
day. One age followed another, until the first 
years of the eighteenth Christian century saw the 
reign of Aurungzebe, Emperor of the Moguls. At 
his command havoc and rapine were let loose once 
more among the temples of the worship of Brahma. 
The shrine of the four-handed god was polluted 
by the slaughter of sacred animals; the images of 
the deities were broken in pieces, and the Moon¬ 
stone was seized by an officer of rank in the army 
of the Aurungzebe. 

Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open 
force, the three guardian priests followed and 
watched it in disguise. The generations succeeded 
each other; the warrior who had committed the 


SERGEANT CUFF 189 

sacrilege perished miserably; the Moonstone passed 
(carrying its curse with it) from one lawless Mo¬ 
hammedan hand to another; and still, through all 
chances and changes, the successors of the three 
guardian priests kept their watch, waiting the day 
when the will of Vishnu the Preserver should re¬ 
store to them their sacred gem. Time rolled on 
from the first to the last years of the eighteenth 
Christian century. The diamond fell into the pos¬ 
session of Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who 
caused it to be placed as an ornament in the handle 
of a dagger, and who commanded it to be kept 
among the choicest treasures of his armory. Even 
then — in the palace of the Sultan himself — the 
three guardian priests still watched in secret. There 
were three officers of Tippoo’s household, strangers 
to the rest, who had won their master’s confidence 
by conforming, or appearing to conform, to the 
Mussulman faith; and to those three men report 
pointed as the three priests in disguise. 


III. 

So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of 
the Moonstone. It made no serious impression on 
any of us except my cousin — whose love of the 
marvelous induced him to believe it. On the night 


igo 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


before the assault on Seringapatam he was ab¬ 
surdly angry with me and with others, for treating 
the whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle fol¬ 
lowed; and Herncastle’s unlucky temper got the 
better of him. He declared, in his boastful way, 
that we should see the Diamond on his finger if the 
English army took Seringapatam. The sally was 
saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we all 
thought that night, the thing ended. 

Let me now take you on to the day of the assault. 

My cousin and I were separated at the outset. 
I never saw him when we forded the river; when 
we planted the English flag in the first breach; 
when we crossed the ditch beyond; and, fighting 
every inch of our way, entered the town. It was 
only at dusk, when the place was ours, and after 
General Baird himself had found the dead body 
of Tippoo under a heap of the slain, that Hern- 
castle and I met. 

We were each attached to a party sent out by 
the general’s orders to prevent the plunder and con¬ 
fusion which followed our conquest. The camp- 
followers committed deplorable excesses; and, 
worse still, the soldiers found their way, by an 
unguarded door, into the treasury of the Palace, 
and loaded themselves with gold and jewels. It 
was in the court outside the treasury that my 
cousin and I met to enforce the laws of discipline 
on our own soldiers. Herncastle’s fiery temper had 


SERGEANT CUFF 


igi 

been, as I could plainly see, exasperated to a kind 
of frenzy by the terrible slaughter through which 
we had passed. He was very unfit, in my opinion, 
to perform the duty that had been intrusted to 
him. 

There was riot and confusion enough in the 
treasury, but no violence that I saw. The men (if 
I may use such an expression) disgraced them¬ 
selves good-humoredly. All sorts of rough jests 
and catch-words were bandied about among them; 
and the story of the Diamond turned up again 
unexpectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. 
“ Who’s got the Moonstone? ” was the rallying 
cry which perpetually caused the plundering as 
soon as it was stopped in one place to break out 
in another. While I was still vainly trying to 
establish order I heard a frightful yelling on the 
other side of the courtyard, and at once ran toward 
the cries, in dread of finding some new outbreak 
of the pillage in that direction. 

I got to an open door, and saw the bodies of two 
Indians (by their dress, as I guessed, officers of 
the palace) lying across the entrance, dead. 

A cry inside hurried me into a room, which ap¬ 
peared to serve as an armory. A third Indian, 
mortally wounded, was sinking at the feet of a 
man whose back was toward me. The man turned 
at the instant when I came in, and I saw John 
Herncastle, with a torch in one hand and a dagger 


192 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


dripping with blood in the other. A stone, set like 
a pommel in the end of the dagger^s handle, 
flashed in the torch-light as he turned on me, like 
a gleam of fire. The dying Indian sank to his 
knees, pointed to the dagger in Herncastle’s hand, 
and said, in his native language; “ The Moonstone 
will have its vengeance on you and yours! ” 
He spoke those words, and fell dead on the 
floor. 

Before I could stir in the matter the men who 
had followed me across the courtyard crowded in. 
My cousin rushed to meet them, like a madman. 
“Clear the room! ’’ he shouted to me, “and set 
a guard on the door! The men fell back as he 
threw himself on them with his torch and his 
dagger. I put two sentinels of my own company, 
on whom I could rely, to keep the door. Through 
the remainder of the night I saw no more of my 
cousin. 

Early in the morning, the plunder still going on. 
General Baird announced publicly by beat of drum, 
that any thief detected in the fact, be he whom he 
might, should be hung. The provost marshal was 
in attendance to prove that the general was in 
earnest; and in the throng that followed the proc¬ 
lamation Herncastle and I met again. 

He held out his hand as usual, and said, “ Good- 
morning.” 


SERGEANT CUFF 


193 


I waited before I gave him my hand in return. 

“ Tell me first,” I said, “ how the Indian in the 
armory met his death, and what those last words 
meant when he pointed to the dagger in your 
hand.” 

The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a 
mortal wound,” said Herncastle. “ What his last 
words meant I know no more than you do.” 

I looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the 
previous day had all calmed down. I determined 
to give him another chance. 

“ Is that all you have to tell me? ” I asked. 

He answered, “ That is all.” 

I turned my back on him; and we have not 
spoken since. 


IV. 

I beg it to be understood that what I write here 
about my cousin (unless some necessity should 
arise for making it public) is for the information 
of the family only. Herncastle has said nothing 
that can justify me in speaking to our commanding 
officer. He has been taunted more than once about 
the Diamond, by those who recollect his angry 
outbreak before the assault; but, as may easily 
be imagined, his own remembrance of the circum¬ 
stances under which I surprised him in the armory 


194 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


has been enough to keep him silent. It is reported 
that he means to exchange into another regiment, 
avowedly for the purpose of separating himself 
from me. 

Whether this be true or not, I cannot prevail 
upon myself to become his accuser — and I think 
with good reason. If I made the matter public, 
I have no evidence but moral evidence to bring 
forward. I have not only no proof that he killed 
the two men at the door, I cannot even declare 
that he killed the third man inside — for I cannot 
say that my own eyes saw the deed committed. 
It is true that I heard the dying Indian’s words; 
but if those words were pronounced to be the rav¬ 
ings of delirium, how could I contradict the asser¬ 
tion from my own knowledge? Let our relatives, 
on either side, form their own opinion on what I 
have written, and decide for themselves whether 
the aversion I now feel toward this man is well or 
ill founded. 

Although I attach no sort of credit to the fan¬ 
tastic Indian legend of the gem, I must acknowl¬ 
edge, before I conclude, that I am influenced by 
a certain superstition of my own in this matter. 
It is my conviction, or my delusion, no matter 
which, that crime brings its own fatality with it. 
I am not only persuaded of Herncastle’s guilt; I 
am even fanciful enough to believe that he will 


SERGEANT CUFF 


195 


live to regret it, if he keeps the Diamond; and that 
others will live to regret taking it from him, if he 
gives the Diamond away. 

******** 

Breakfast had not been over long when a tele¬ 
gram from Mr. Blake, the elder, arrived in answer 
to his son. It informed us that he had laid hands 
(by help of his friend the Commissioner) on the 
right man to help us. The name of him was 
Sergeant Cuff, and the arrival of him from London 
might be expected by the morning train. 

At reading the name of the new police-officer 
Mr. Franklin gave a start. It seems that he had 
heard some curious anecdotes about Sergeant Cuff 
from his father’s lawyer during his stay in London. 
“ I begin to hope we are seeing the end of our 
anxieties already,” he said. “ If half the stories I 
have heard are true, when it comes to unraveling 
a mystery there isn’t the equal in England of 
Sergeant Cuff! ” 

We all got excited and impatient as the time 
drew near for the appearance of this renowned and 
capable character. Superintendent Seegrave’*' re¬ 
turning to us at his appointed time, and hearing 
that the Sergeant was expected, instantly shut 
himself up in a room, with pen, ink, and paper, to 
♦ The Police official who was first called in. 


196 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

make notes of the Report which would be certainly 
expected from him. 

When the time came for the Sergeant’s arrival 
I went down to the gate to look out for him. 

A fly from the railway drove up as I reached the 
lodge; and out got a grizzled, elderly man, so mis¬ 
erably lean that he looked as if he had not got an 
ounce of flesh on his bones in any part of him. 
He was dressed all in decent black, with a white 
cravat round his neck. His face was as sharp as a 
hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry 
and withered as an autumn leaf. His eyes of a 
steely light gray, had a very disconcerting trick, 
when they encountered your eyes, of looking as if 
they expected something more of you than you were 
aware of yourself. His walk was soft; his voice 
was melancholy; his long lanky fingers were hooked 
like claws. He might have been a parson, or an 
undertaker, or anything else you like, except what 
he really was. A more complete opposite to Super¬ 
intendent Seegrave than Sergeant Cuff, and a less 
comforting officer to look at for a family in distress, 
I defy you to discover, search where you may. 

“ Is this Lady Verinder’s? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

‘‘I am Sergeant Cuff.” 

“ This way, sir, if you please.” 

On our road to the house I mentioned my name 


SERGEANT CUFF 


197 


and position in the family to satisfy him that he 
might speak to me about the business on which my 
lady was to employ him. Not a word did he say 
about the business, however, for all that. He ad¬ 
mired the grounds, and remarked that he felt the 
sea-air very brisk and refreshing. I privately 
wondered, on my side, how the celebrated Cuff had 
got his reputation. We reached the house, in 
the temper of two strange dogs, coupled up to¬ 
gether for the first time in their lives by the same 
chain. 

Asking for my lady, and hearing that she was in 
one of the conservatories, we went round to the 
gardens at the back and sent a servant to seek her. 
While we were waiting Sergeant Cuff looked 
through the evergreen arch on our left, spied out 
our rosary, and walked straight in, with the first ap¬ 
pearance of anything like interest that he had 
shown yet. To the gardener’s astonishment, and 
to my disgust, this celebrated policeman proved to 
be quite a mine of learning on the trumpery sub¬ 
ject of rose-gardens. 

“Ah, you’ve got the right exposure here to the 
south and sou’west,” says the Sergeant, with a 
wag of his grizzled head, and a streak of pleasure 
in his melancholy voice. “ This is the shape for 
a rosary — nothing like a circle set in a square. 
Yes, yes; with walks between all the beds. But 


igS GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

they oughtn’t to be gravel-walks like these. Grass, 
Mr. Gardener — grass-walks between your roses; 
gravel’s too hard for them. That’s a sweet pretty 
bed of white roses and blush roses. They always 
mix well together, don’t they? Here’s the white 
musk-rose, Mr. Betteredge — our old English rose 
holding up its head along with the best and the 
newest of them. Pretty dear! ” says the Sergeant, 
fondling the musk-rose with his lanky fingers, 
and speaking to it as if he was speaking to a child. 

This was a nice sort of man to recover Miss 
Rachel’s Diamond, and to find out the thief who 
stole it! 

You seem to be fond of roses. Sergeant? ” I 
remarked. 

“ I haven’t much time to be fond of anything,” 
says Sergeant Cuff. “ But, when I have a moment’s 
fondness to bestow, most times, Mr. Betteredge, 
the roses get it. I began my life among them in 
my father’s nursery garden, and I shall end my 
life among them if I can. Yes. One of these 
days (please God) I shall retire from catching 
thieves, and try my hand at growing roses. There 
will be grass-walks, Mr. Gardener, between my 
beds,” says the Sergeant, on whose mind the gravel- 
path of a rosary seemed to dwell unpleasantly. 

“It seems an odd taste, sir,” I ventured to 
say, “ for a man in your line of life.” 


SERGEANT CUFF 


199 


“ If you will look about you (which most people 
won’t do),” says Sergeant Cuff, “ you will see that 
the nature of a man’s tastes is, most times, as op¬ 
posite as possible to the nature of a man’s business. 
Show me any two things more opposite one from 
the other than a rose and a thief, and I’ll correct 
my tastes accordingly — if it isn’t too late at 
my time of life. You find the damask rose a 
goodish stock for most of the tender sorts, don’t 
you, Mr. Gardener? Ah! I thought so. Here’s a 
lady coming. Is it Lady Verinder? ” 

He had seen her before either I or the gardener 
had seen her — though we knew which way to 
look, and he didn’t. I began to think him rather 
a quicker man than he appeared to be at first 
sight. 

The Sergeant’s appearance, or the Sergeant’s er¬ 
rand— one or both — seemed to cause my lady 
some little embarrassment. She was, for the first 
time in all my experience of her, at a loss what to 
say at an interview with a stranger. Sergeant 
Cuff put her at her ease directly. He asked if any 
other person had been employed about the robbery 
before we sent for him; and hearing that another 
person had been called in, and was now in the 
house, begged leave to speak to him before any¬ 
thing else was done. 

My lady led the way back. Before he followed 


200 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


her, the Sergeant relieved his mind on the subject 
of the gravel-walks by a parting word to the 
gardener. “ Get her ladyship to try grass,’’ he 
said, with a sour look at the paths. “No gravel! 
no gravel! ” 

Why Superintendent Seegrave should have ap¬ 
peared to be several sizes smaller than life, on 
being presented to Sergeant Cuff, I can’t under¬ 
take to explain. I can only state the fact. They 
retired together, and remained a weary long time 
shut up from all mortal intrusion. When they 
came out Mr. Superintendent was excited and Mr. 
Sergeant was yawning. 

“ The Sergeant wishes to see Miss Verinder’s 
sitting-room,” says Mr. Seegrave, addressing me 
with great pomp and eagerness. “ The Sergeant 
may have some questions to ask. Attend the Ser¬ 
geant, if you please! ” 

While I was being ordered about in this way, 
I looked at the great Cuff. The great Cuff, on his 
side, looked at Superintendent Seegrave in that 
quietly expecting way which I have already noticed. 
I can’t affirm that he was on the watch for his 
brother-officer’s speedy appearance in the character 
of an Ass — I can only say that I strongly sus¬ 
pected it. 

I led the way up-stairs. The Sergeant went softly 
all over the Indian cabinet and all round the 


SERGEANT CUFF 


201 


boudoir,” asking questions (occasionally only of 
Mr. Superintendent, and continually of me), the 
drift of which I believe to have been equally unin¬ 
telligible to both of us. In due time his course 
brought him to the door, and put him face to face 
with the decorative painting that you know of. He 
laid one lean inquiring finger on the small smear, 
just under the lock, which Superintendent Seegrave 
had already noticed, when he reproved the women- 
servants for all crowding together into the room. 

That^s a pity,” says Sergeant Cuff. “ How 
did it happen? ” 

He put the question to me. I answered that 
the women-servants had crowded into the room on 
the previous morning, and that some of their petti¬ 
coats had done the mischief. '‘Superintendent 
Seegrave ordered them out, sir,” I added, “ before 
they did any more harm.” 

“ Right! ” says Mr. Superintendent, in his mili¬ 
tary way. I ordered them out. The petticoats 
did it. Sergeant — the petticoats did it.” 

“ Did you notice which petticoat did it? ” asked 
Sergeant Cuff, still addressing himself, not to his 
brother-officer, but to me. 

“ No, sir.” 

He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, 
and said, You noticed, I suppose? ” 

Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback; 


202 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


but he made the best of it. I can’t charge my 
memory, Sergeant,” he said, “ a mere trifle — a 
mere trifle.” 

Sergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave as he had 
looked at the gravel-walks in the rosary, and gave 
us, in his melancholy way, the first taste of his 
quality which we had had yet. 

“ I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Super¬ 
intendent,” he said. “ At one end of the inquiry 
there was a murder, and at the other end there was 
a spot of ink on a table-cloth that nobody could 
account for. In all my experience along the dirt¬ 
iest ways of this dirty little world I have never 
met with such a thing as a trifle yet. Before we 
go a step further in this business, we must see the 
petticoat that made the smear, and we must know 
for certain when that paint was wet.” 

Mr. Superintendent — taking his set-down rather 
sulkily — asked if he should summon the women. 
Sergeant Cuff, after considering a minute, sighed, 
and shook his head. 

“ No,” he said, “ we’ll take the matter of the 
paint first. It’s a question of Yes or No with the 
paint — which is short. It’s a question of petti¬ 
coats with the woman — which is long. What 
o’clock was it when the servants were in this room 
yesterday morning? Eleven o’clock — eh? Is 


SERGEANT CUFF 


20S 


there anybody in the house who knows whether 
that paint was wet or dry, at eleven yesterday 
morning? 

“ Her ladyship’s nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, 
knows,” I said. 

“ Is the gentleman in the house? ” 

Mr. Franklin was as close at hand as could be — 
waiting for his first chance of being introduced to 
the great Cuff. In half a minute he was in the 
room, and was giving his evidence as follows: 

“ That door. Sergeant,” he said, has been 
painted by Miss Verinder, under my inspection, 
with my help, and in a vehicle of my own compo¬ 
sition. The vehicle dries whatever colors may be 
used with it in twelve hours.” 

“ Do you remember when the smeared bit was 
done, sir? ” asked the Sergeant. 

Perfectly,” answered Mr. Franklin. “ That 
was the last morsel of the door to be finished. We 
wanted to get it done on Wednesday last, and I 
myself completed it by three in the afternoon, 
or soon after.” 

To-day is Friday,” said Sergeant Cuff, address¬ 
ing himself to Superintendent Seegrave. “ Let us 
reckon back, sir. At three on the Wednesday after¬ 
noon, that bit of the painting was completed. The 
vehicle dried it in twelve hours — that is to say. 


204 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


dried it by three o’clock on Thursday morning. 
At eleven on Thursday morning you held your in¬ 
quiry here. Take three from eleven, and eight 
remains. That paint had been eight hours dry^ 
Mr. Superintendent, when you supposed that the 
women-servants’ petticoats smeared it.’’ 

First knock-down blow for Mr. Seegrave! If he 
had not suspected poor Penelope, I should have 
pitied him. 

Having settled the question of the paint, Sergeant 
Cuff, from the moment, gave his brother-officer up 
as a bad job — and addressed himself to Mr. 
Franklin, as the more promising assistant of the 
two. 

“ It’s quite on the cards, sir,” he said, that 
you have put the clew into our hands.” 

As the words passed his lips the bedroom door 
opened and Miss Rachel came out among us 
suddenly. 

She addressed herself to the Sergeant, without 
appearing to notice (or to heed) that he was. a 
perfect stranger to her. 

“ Did you say,” she asked, pointing to Mr. 
Franklin, “ that he had put the clew into your 
hands? ” 

(“This is Miss Verinder,” I whispered, behind 
the Sergeant.) 

“ That gentleman, miss,” says the Sergeant — 


SERGEANT CUFF 


205 


with his steely-gray eyes carefully studying my 
young lady’s face — “ has possibly put the clew 
in our hands.” 

She turned for one moment, and tried to look at 
Mr. Franklin. I say tried, for she suddenly looked 
away again before their eyes met. There seemed 
to be some strange disturbance in her mind. She 
colored up, and then she turned pale again. With 
the paleness there came a new look into her face, a 
look which it startled me to see. 

“ Having answered your question, miss,” says 
the Sergeant, “ I beg leave to make an inquiry in 
my turn. There is a smear on the painting of 
your door here. Do you happen to know when it 
was done? or who did it? ” 

Instead of making any reply. Miss Rachel went 
on with her question as if he had not spoken, or 
as if she had not heard him. 

“ Are you another police officer? ” she asked. 

“ I am Sergeant Cuff, miss, of the detective 
police.” 

“ Do you think a young lady’s advice worth 
having? ” 

I shall be glad to hear it, miss.” 

Do your duty by yourself — and don’t allow 
Mr. Franklin Blake to help you! ” 

She said those words so spitefully, so savagely, 
with such an extraordinary outbreak of ill-will 


206 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

toward Mr. Franklin, in her voice and her look, 
that — although I had known her from a baby, 
though I loved and honored her next to my lady 
herself — I was ashamed of Miss Rachel for the 
first time in my life. 

Sergeant Cuff’s immovable eyes never stirred 
from off her face. “ Thank you, miss,” he said. 
“ Do you happen to know anything about the 
smear? Might you have done it by accident your¬ 
self? ” 

“ I know nothing about the smear.” 

With that answer she turned away, and shut 
herself up again in her bedroom. This time I 
heard her — as Penelope had heard her before — 
burst out crying as soon as she was alone again. 

I couldn’t bring myself to look at the Sergeant 
— I looked at Mr. Franklin, who stood nearest 
to me. He seemed to be even more sorely dis¬ 
tressed at what had passed than I was. 

I told you I was uneasy about her,” he said. 
^‘And now you see why.” 

“ Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of 
temper about the loss of her Diamond,” remarked 
the Sergeant. “ It’s a valuable jewel. Natural 
enough! natural enough! ” 

Here was the excuse that I had made for her 
(when she forgot herself before Superintendent 
Seegrave, on the previous day) being made for 


SERGEANT CUFF 


207 


her over again, by a man who couldn’t have had my 
interest in making it — for he was a perfect stran¬ 
ger! A kind of cold shudder ran through me, 
which I couldn’t account for at the time. I know 
now that I must have got my first suspicion, at 
that moment, of a new light (and a horrid light) 
having suddenly fallen on the case, in the mind of 
Sergeant Cuff — purely and entirely in consequence 
of what he had seen in Miss Rachel, and heard 
from Miss Rachel, at that first interview between 
them. 

“ A young lady’s tongue is a privileged member, 
sir,” says the Sergeant to Mr. Franklin. “Let us 
forget what has passed, and go straight on with 
this business. Thanks to you, we know when the 
paint was dry. The next thing to discover is when 
the paint was last seen without that smear. You 
have got a head on your shoulders — and you 
understand what I mean.” 

Mr. Franklin composed himself, and came back 
with an effort from Miss Rachel to the matter in 
hand. 

“ I think I do understand,” he said. “ The more 
we narrow the question of time the more we also 
narrow the field of inquiry.” 

“ That’s it, sir,” said the Sergeant. “ Did you 
notice your work here on the Wednesday after¬ 
noon, after you had done it? ” 


208 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Mr. Franklin shook his head and answered, “ I 
can’t say I did.” 

“ Did you? ” inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning to 
me. 

‘‘ I can’t say I did either, sir.” 

“ Who was the last person in the room, the last 
thing on Wednesday night? ” 

“ Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir.” 

Mr. Franklin struck in there, “ Or possibly your 
daughter, Betteredge.” He turned to Sergeant 
Cuff, and explained that my daughter was Miss 
Verinder’s maid. 

“ Mr. Betteredge, ask your daughter to step up. 
Stop! ” says the Sergeant, taking me away to the 
window out of ear-shot. “Your Superintendent 
here,” he went on, in a whisper, “has made a 
pretty full report to me of the manner in which 
he has managed this case. Among other things he 
has, by his own confession, set the servants’ backs 
up. It’s very important to smooth them down 
again. Tell your daughter, and tell the rest of 
them, these two things with my compliments: 
First, that I have no evidence before me, yet, that 
the Diamond has been stolen; I only know that 
the Diamond has been lost. Second, that my 
business here with the servants is simply to ask 
them to lay their heads together and help me to 
find it.” 


SERGEANT CUFF 


209 


My experience of the women-servants, when 
Superintendent Seegrave laid his embargo on their 
rooms, came in handy here. 

“ May I make so bold, Sergeant, as to tell the 
women a third thing? ” I asked. “ Are they free 
(with your compliments) to fidget up and down 
stairs, and whisk in and out of their bedrooms, if 
the fit takes them? ” 

“ Perfectly free,” says the Sergeant. 

“ That will smooth them down, sir,” I remarked, 
“ from the cook to the scullion.” 

“ Go and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge.” 

I did it in less than five minutes. There was 
only one difficulty when I came to the bit about the 
bedrooms. It took a pretty stiff exertion of my 
authority, as chief, to prevent the whole of the fe¬ 
male household from following me and Penelope 
up-stairs, in the character of volunteer witnesses in 
a burning fever of anxiety to help Sergeant Cuff. 

The Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope. 
He became a trifle less dreary; and he looked much 
as he had looked when he noticed the white musk- 
rose in the flower-garden. Here is my daughter’s 
evidence, as drawn off from her by the Sergeant. 
She gave it, I think, very prettily — but, there! 
she is my child all over: nothing of her mother in 
her; Lord bless you, nothing of her mother in her! 

Penelope examined: Took a lively interest in 


210 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


the painting on the door, having helped to mix the 
colors. Noticed the bit of work under the lock, 
because it was the last bit done. Had seen it, 
some hours afterward, without a smear. Had 
left it, as late as twelve at night, without a smear. 
Had, at that hour, wished her young lady good¬ 
night in the bedroom; had heard the clock strike 
in the “ boudoir: ” had her hand at the time on 
the handle of the painted door; knew the paint 
was wet (having helped to mix the colors, as 
aforesaid); took particular pains not to touch it; 
could swear that she held up the skirts of her dress, 
and that there was no smear on the paint then; 
could not swear that her dress mightn’t have 
touched it accidentally in going out; remembered 
the dress she had on, because it was new, a present 
from Miss Rachel; her father remembered, and 
could speak to it, too; could, and would, and did 
fetch it; dress recognized by her father as the 
dress she wore that night; skirts examined, a long 
job from the size of them; not the ghost of a paint- 
stain discovered anywhere. End of Penelope’s evi¬ 
dence— and very pretty and convincing, too. 
Signed, Gabriel Betteredge. 

The Sergeant’s next proceeding was to question 
me about any large dogs in the house who might 
have got into the room, and done the mischief 
with a whisk of their tails. Hearing that this was 


SERGEANT CUFF 


211 


impossible, he next sent for a magnifying-glass, 
and tried how the smear looked, seen that way. No 
skin-mark (as of a human hand) printed off on the 
paint. All the signs visible — signs which told 
that the paint had been smeared by some loose 
article of somebody’s dress touching it in going by. 
That somebody (putting together Penelope’s evi¬ 
dence and Mr. Franklin’s evidence) must have 
been in the room, and done the mischief, between 
midnight and three o’clock on the Thursday morn¬ 
ing. 

Having brought his investigation to this point, 
Sergeant Cuff discovered that such a person as 
Superintendent Seegrave was still left in the room, 
upon which he summed up the proceedings for his 
brother-officer’s benefit, as follows: 

“ This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent,” says 
the Sergeant, pointing to the place on the door, 
‘‘ has grown a little in importance since you noticed 
it last. At the present stage of the inquiry there 
are, as I take it, three discoveries to make, starting 
from that smear. Find out (first) whether there 
is any article of dress in this house with the smear 
of the paint on it. Find out (second) who that 
dress belongs to. Find out (third) how the person 
can account for having been in this room, and 
smeared the paint, between midnight and three in 
the morning. If the person can’t satisfy you, you 


212 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


haven^t far to look for the hand that has got the 
Diamond. I’ll work this by myself, if you please, 
and detain you no longer from your regular busi¬ 
ness in town. You have got one of your men here, 
I see. Leave him here at my disposal, in case I 
want him — and allow me to wish you good¬ 
morning.” 

Superintendent Seegrave’s respect for the Ser¬ 
geant was great; but his respect for himself was 
greater still. Hit hard by the celebrated Cuff, he 
hit back smartly, to the best of his ability, on 
leaving the room. 

“ I have abstained from expressing any opinion 
so far,” says Mr. Superintendent, with his military 
voice still in good working order. “ I have now 
only one remark to offer, on leaving this case in 
your hands. There is such a thing. Sergeant, as 
making a mountain out of a mole-hill. Good¬ 
morning.” 

“ There is also such a thing as making nothing 
out of a mole-hill, in consequence of your head 
being too high to see it.” Having returned his 
brother-officer’s compliment in those terms. Ser¬ 
geant Cuff wheeled about, and walked away to the 
window by himself. 

Mr. Franklin and I waited to see what was com¬ 
ing next. The Sergeant stood at the window, with 


SERGEANT CUFF 


213 


his hands in his pockets, looking out, and whistling 
the tune of the Last Rose of Summer ” softly to 
himself. Later in the proceedings, I discovered 
that he only forgot his manners so far as to whistle, 
when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way 
inch by inch to its own private ends, on which oc¬ 
casions the Last Rose of Summer ” evidently 
helped and encouraged him. I suppose it fitted in 
somehow with his character. It reminded him, you 
see, of his favorite roses, and, as he whistled it, it 
was the most melancholy tune going. 

Turning from the window, after a minute or 
two, the Sergeant walked into the middle of the 
room, and stopped there, deep in thought, with his 
eyes on Miss Rachel’s bedroom door. After a 
little he roused himself, nodded his head, as much 
as to say, That will do! ” and, addressing me, 
asked for ten minutes’ conversation with my mis¬ 
tress, at her ladyship’s earliest convenience. 

Leaving the room with this message, I heard Mr. 
Franklin ask the Sergeant a question, and stopped 
to hear the answer also at the threshold of the 
door. 

“ Can you guess yet,” inquired Mr. Franklin, 
“ who has stolen the Diamond? ” 

Nobody has stolen the Diamond** answered 
Sergeant Cuff. 


214 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


We both started at that extraordinary view of 
the case, and both earnestly begged him to tell us 
what he meant. 

“ Wait a little,” said the Sergeant. “ The pieces 
of the puzzle are not all put together yet.” 


The Statement of Sergeant Cuff 

I. 

Dorking, Surrey, July 30, 1849. — To Franklin 
Blake, Esq. Sir, — I beg to apologize for the 
delay that has occurred in the production of the 
Report with which I engaged to furnish you. I 
have waited to make it a complete report; and I 
have been met, here and there, by obstacles which 
it was only possible to remove by some little ex¬ 
penditure of patience and time. 

The object which I proposed to myself has now, 
I hope, been attained. You will find, in these 
pages, answers to the greater part — if not all — of 
the questions, concerning the late Mr. Godfrey 
Ablewhite, which occurred to your mind when I 
last had the honor of seeing you. 

I propose to tell you — in the first place — what 
is known of the manner in which your cousin met 


SERGEANT CUFF 


215 


his death; appending to the statement such infer¬ 
ences and conclusions as we are justified (accord¬ 
ing to my opinion) in drawing from the facts. 

I shall then endeavor — in the second place — 
to put you in possession of such discoveries as I 
have made, respecting the proceedings of Mr. God¬ 
frey Ablewhite, before, during, and after the time, 
when you and he met as guests at the late Lady 
Verinder’s country house. 

II. 

As to your cousin^s death, then, first. 

It appears to me to be established, beyond any 
reasonable doubt, that he was killed (while he was 
asleep, or immediately on his waking) by being 
smothered with a pillow from his bed — that the 
persons guilty of murdering him are the three In¬ 
dians— and that the object contemplated (and 
achieved) by the crime, was to obtain possession 
of the diamond, called the Moonstone. 

The facts from which this conclusion is drawn, 
are derived partly from an examination of the room 
at the tavern; and partly from the evidence ob¬ 
tained at the Coroner’s Inquest. 

On forcing the door of the room the deceased 
gentleman was discovered, dead, with the pillow of 
the bed over his face. The medical man who ex- 


2I6 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


amined him, being informed of this circumstance, 
considered the post-mortem appearances as being 
perfectly compatible with murder by smothering — 
that is to say, with murder committed by some 
person, or persons, pressing the pillow over the 
nose and mouth of the deceased, until death re¬ 
sulted from congestion of the lungs. 

Next, as to the motive for the crime. 

A small box, with a sealed paper torn off from it 
— the paper containing an inscription — was found 
open, and empty, on a table in the room. Mr. 
Luker has himself personally identified the box, the 
seal, and the inscription. He has declared that 
the box did actually contain the diamond, called the 
Moonstone; and he has admitted having given 
the box (thus sealed up) to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite 
(then concealed under a disguise), on the after¬ 
noon of the twenty-sixth of June last. The fair 
inference from all this is, that the stealing of the 
Moonstone was the motive of the crime. 

Next, as to the manner in which the crime was 
committed. 

On examination of the room (which is only seven 
feet high), a trap-door in the ceiling, leading out 
on to the roof of the house, was discovered open. 
The short ladder, used for obtaining access to the 
trap-door (and kept under the bed), was found 
placed at the opening, so as to enable 2Uiy person, 


SERGEANT CUFF 217 

or persons, in the room, to leave it again easily. In 
the trap-door itself was found a square aperture 
cut in the wood, apparently with some exceedingly 
sharp instrument, just behind the bolt which 
fastened the door on the inner side. In this way 
any person from the outside could have drawn 
back the bolt, and opened the door, and have 
dropped (or have been noiselessly lowered by an ac¬ 
complice) into the room — its height, as already 
observed, being only seven feet. That some person, 
or persons, must have got admission in this way, 
appears evident from the fact of the aperture being 
there. As to the manner in which he (or they) 
obtained access to the roof of the tavern, it is to 
be remarked that the third house, lower down in 
the street, was empty and under repair — that a 
long ladder was left by the workmen, leading from 
the pavement to the top of the house — and that, 
on returning to their work on the morning of the 
27th, the men found the plank which they had tied 
to the ladder, to prevent any one from using it in 
their absence, removed, and lying on the ground. 
As to the possibility of ascending by this ladder, 
passing over the roofs of the houses, passing back 
and descending again, unobserved — it is discov¬ 
ered, on the evidence of the night policeman, that 
he only passes through Shore Lane twice in an hour 
when out on his beat. The testimony of the in- 


2i8 great detective STORIES 

habitants also declares that Shore Lane, after mid¬ 
night, is one of the quietest and loneliest streets in 
London. Here again, therefore, it seems fair to 
infer that — with ordinary caution and presence 
of mind — any man, or men, might have ascended 
by the ladder, and might have descended again, 
unobserved. Once on the roof of the tavern, it 
has been proved, by experiment, that a man might 
cut through the trap-door while lying down on it, 
and that in such a position the parapet in front of 
the house would conceal him from the view of any 
one passing in the street. 

Lastly, as to the person, or persons, by whom 
the crime was committed. 

It is known (i) that the Indians had an interest 
in possessing themselves of the Diamond. (2) 
It is at least probable that the man looking like 
an Indian, whom Octavius Guy saw at the window 
of the cab speaking to the man dressed like a me¬ 
chanic, was one of the three Hindoo conspirators. 
(3) It is certain that this same man dressed like 
a mechanic, was seen keeping Mr. Godfrey Able- 
white in view all through the evening of the 26th, 
and was found in the bedroom (before Mr. Able- 
white was shown into it) under circumstances 
which lead to the suspicion that he was examining 
the room. (4) A morsel of torn gold thread was 
picked up in the bedroom, which persons expert 


SERGEANT CUFF 


219 


in such matters declare to be of Indian manufac¬ 
ture, and to be a species of gold thread not known 
in England. (5) On the morning of the 27th, 
three men, answering to the description of the 
three Indians, were observed in Lower Thames 
Street, were traced to the Tower Wharf, and were 
seen to leave London by the steamer bound for 
Rotterdam. 

There is here moral, if not legal, evidence that 
the murder was committed by the Indians. 

Whether the man personating a mechanic was, 
or was not, an accomplice in the crime, it is im* 
possible to say. That he could have committed the 
murder alone seems beyond the limits of probabil¬ 
ity. Acting by himself, he could hardly have 
smothered Mr. Ablewhite — who was the taller and 
the stronger man of the two — without a struggle 
taking place, or a cry being heard. A servant girl, 
sleeping in the next room, heard nothing. The 
landlord, sleeping in the room below, heard nothing. 
The whole evidence points to the inference that 
more than one man was concerned in this crime — 
and the circumstances, I repeat, morally justify the 
conclusion that the Indians committed it. 

I have only to add that the verdict at the Cor¬ 
oner’s Inquest was willful murder against some 
person, or persons, unknown. Mr. Ablewhite’s 
family have offered a reward, and no effort has been 


220 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


left untried to discover the guilty persons. The 
man dressed like a mechanic has eluded all inquir¬ 
ies. The Indians have been traced. As to the 
prospect of ultimately capturing these last, I shall 
have a word to say to you on that head when I 
reach the end of the present Report. 

In the meanwhile, having now written all that is 
needful on the subject of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s 
death, I may pass next to the narrative of his pro¬ 
ceedings before, during, and after the time when 
you and he met at the late Lady Verinder’s house. 


III. 

With regard to the subject now in hand, I may 
state, at the outset, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s 
life had two sides to it. 

The side turned up to the public view presented 
the spectacle of a gentleman, possessed of consid¬ 
erable reputation as a speaker at charitable meet¬ 
ings, and endowed with administrative abilities, 
which he placed at the disposal of various Benevo¬ 
lent Societies, mostly of the female sort. The side 
kept hidden from the general notice exhibited this 
same gentleman in the totally different character 
of a man of pleasure, with a villa in the suburbs 
which was not taken in his own name, and with a 


SERGEANT CUFF 


221 


lady in the villa who was not taken in his own 
name either. 

My investigations in this villa have shown me 
several fine pictures and statues; furniture taste¬ 
fully selected and admirably made; and a conserva¬ 
tory of the rarest flowers, the match of which it 
would not be easy to find in all London. My in¬ 
vestigation of the lady has resulted in the discov¬ 
ery of jewels which are worthy to take rank with 
the flowers, and of carriages and horses which have 
(deservedly) produced a sensation in the Park 
among persons well qualified to judge of the build 
of the one and the breed of the others. 

All this is, so far, common enough. The villa 
and the lady are such familiar objects in London 
life that I ought to apologize for introducing them 
to notice. But what is not common and not famil¬ 
iar (in my experience) is that all these fine things 
were not only ordered but paid for. The pictures, 
the statues, the flowers, the jewels, the carriages, 
and the horses — inquiry proved, to my indescrib¬ 
able astonishment, that not a sixpence of debt was 
owing on any of them. As to the villa, it had been 
bought, out and out, and settled on the lady, 

I might have tried to find the right reading of 
this riddle, and tried in vain — but for Mr. God¬ 
frey Ablewhite’s death, which caused an inquiry 
to be made into the state of his affairs. 


222 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


The inquiry elicited these facts: 

That Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was intrusted with 
the care of a sum of twenty thousand pounds — 
as one of two Trustees for a young gentleman, 
who was still a minor in the year eighteen hundred 
and forty-eight. That the Trust was to lapse, and 
that the young gentleman was to receive the twenty 
thousand pounds on the day when he came of age, 
in the month of February, eighteen hundred and 
fifty. That, pending the arrival of this period, an 
income of six hundred pounds was to be paid to 
him by his two Trustees, half yearly — at Christ¬ 
mas and at Midsummer-Day. That this income 
was regularly paid by the active Trustee, Mr. 
Godfrey Ablewhite. That the twenty thousand 
pounds (from which the income was supposed to 
be derived) had, every farthing of it, been sold 
out of the Funds, at different periods, ending with 
the end of the year eighteen hundred and forty- 
seven. That the power of attorney, authorizing 
the bankers to sell out the stock, and the various 
written orders telling them what amounts to sell 
out, were formally signed by both the Trustees. 
That the signature of the second Trustee (a re¬ 
tired army officer, living in the country) was a 
signature forged, in every case, by the active Trus¬ 
tee— otherwise Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. 

In these facts lies the explanation of Mr. God- 


SERGEANT CUFF 


223 


frey’s honorable conduct in paying the debts in¬ 
curred for the lady and the villa — and (you will 
presently see) of more besides. 

We may now advance to the date of Miss Ver- 
inder’s birthday (in the year eighteen hundred and 
forty-eight)—the twenty-first of June. 

On the day before, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite ar¬ 
rived at his father^s house, and asked (as I know 
from Mr. Ablewhite, senior, himself) for a loan 
of three hundred pounds. Mark the sum; and re¬ 
member at the same time that the half-yearly pay¬ 
ment to the young gentleman was due on the 
twenty-fourth of the month. Also, that the whole 
of the young gentleman’s fortune had been spent 
by his Trustee by the end of the year ’forty- 
seven. 

Mr. Ablewhite, senior, refused to lend his son a 
farthing. 

The next day Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite rode over, 
with you, to Lady Verinder’s house. A few hours 
afterward Mr. Godfrey (as you yourself have told 
me) made a proposal of marriage to Miss Verinder. 
Here he saw his way, no doubt — if accepted — 
to the end of all his money anxieties, present and 


224 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


future. But, as events actually turned out, what 
happened? Miss Verinder refused him. 

On the night of the birthday, therefore, Mr. God¬ 
frey Ablewhite’s pecuniary position was this: He 
had three hundred pounds to find on the twenty- 
fourth of the month, and twenty thousand pounds 
to find in February, eighteen hundred and fifty. 
Failing to raise these sums, at these times, he was 
a ruined man. 

Under those circumstances, what takes place 
next? 

You exasperate Mr. Candy, the doctor, on the 
sore subject of his profession, and he plays you 
a practical joke in return, with a dose of laudanum. 
He trusts the administration of the dose (prepared 
in a little vial) to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, who 
has himself confessed the share he had in the 
matter, under circumstances which shall presently 
be related to you. Mr. Godfrey is all the readier 
to enter into the conspiracy, having himself suf¬ 
fered from your sharp tongue, in the course of the 
evening. He joins Betteredge in persuading you 
to drink a little brandy-and-water before you go 
to bed. He privately drops the dose of laudanum 
into your cold grog. And you drink the mixture. 

Let us now shift the scene, if you please, to 
Mr. Luker^s house at Lambeth. And allow me to 
remark, by the way of preface, that Mr. Bruff and 


SERGEANT CUFF 


225 


I, together, have found a means of forcing the 
money-lender to make a clean breast of it. We 
have carefully sifted the statement he has ad¬ 
dressed to us; and here it is at your service. 

IV. 

Late on the evening of Friday, the twenty-third 
of June (’forty-eight), Mr. Luker was surprised 
by a visit from Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. He was 
more than surprised when Mr. Godfrey produced 
the Moonstone. No such diamond (according to 
Mr. Luker’s experience) was in the possession of 
any private person in Europe. 

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had two modest pro¬ 
posals to make in relation to this magnificent gem. 
First, Would Mr. Luker be so good as to buy it? 
Secondly, Would Mr. Luker (in default of seeing 
his way to purchase) undertake to sell it on com¬ 
mission, and to pay a sum down, on the anticipated 
result? 

Mr. Luker tested the Diamond, weighed the 
Diamond, and estimated the value of the Dia¬ 
mond, before he answered a word. His estimate 
(allowing for the flaw in the stone) was thirty 
thousand pounds. 

Having reached that result Mr. Luker opened 
his lips and put a question: “ How did you come 


226 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

by this? ” Only six words! But what volumes 
of meaning in them! 

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began a story. Mr. 
Luker opened his lips again, and only said three 
words, this time. That won’t do.” 

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began another story. 
Mr. Luker wasted no more words on him. He got 
up and rang the bell for the servant to show the 
gentleman out. 

Upon this compulsion, Mr. Godfrey made an 
effort, and came out with a new and amended ver¬ 
sion of the affair, to the following effect. 

After privately slipping the laudanum into your 
brandy-and-water, he wished you good-night, and 
went into his own room. It was the next room to 
yours, and the two had a door of communication 
between them. On entering his own room Mr. 
Godfrey (as he supposed) closed this door. His 
money-troubles kept him awake. He sat, in his 
dressing-gown and slippers, for nearly an hour, 
thinking over his position. Just as he was pre¬ 
paring to go into bed, he heard you talking to 
yourself in your own room, and going to the door 
of communication, found that he had not shut it 
as he supposed. 

He looked into your room to see what was the 
matter. He discovered you with the candle in 
your hand, just leaving your bedchamber. He 


SERGEANT CUFF 


227 


heard you say to yourself, in a voice quite unlike 
your own voice, “ How do I know? The Indians 
may be hidden in the house.” 

Up to that time he had simply supposed him¬ 
self (in giving you the laudanum) to be helping to 
make you the victim of a harmless practical joke. 
It now occurred to him that the laudanum had 
taken some effect on you which had not been fore¬ 
seen by the doctor, any more than by himself. In 
the fear of an accident happening, he followed you 
softly to see what you would do. 

He followed you to Miss Verinder’s sitting-room, 
and saw you go in. You left the door open. He 
looked through the crevice thus produced, between 
the door and the post, before he ventured into the 
room himself. 

In that position, he not only detected you in 
taking the Diamond out of the drawer — he also 
detected Miss Verinder, silently watching you from 
her bedroom, through her open door. He saw that 
she saw you take the Diamond too. 

Before you left the sitting-room again, you hes¬ 
itated a little. Mr. Godfrey took advantage of 
this hesitation to get back again to his bedroom 
before you came out and discovered him. He 
had barely gone back, before you got back too. 
You saw him (as he supposes) just as he was pass¬ 
ing through the door of communication. At any 


228 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


rate, you called to him in a strange, drowsy voice. 

He came back to you. You looked at him in 
a dull, sleepy way. You put the Diamond into his 
hand. You said to him, “ Take it back, Godfrey, 
to your father’s bank. It’s safe there— it’s not 
safe here.” You turned away unsteadily, and put 
on your dressing-gown. You sat down in the 
large arm-chair in your room. You said, “ I can’t 
take it back to the bank. My head’s like lead — 
and I can’t feel my feet under me.” Your head 
sank on the back of the chair — you heaved a 
heavy sigh — and you fell asleep. 

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite went back, with the 
Diamond, into his own room. His statement is, 
that he came to no conclusion at that time — ex¬ 
cept that he would wait, and see what happened in 
the morning. 

When the morning came, your language and 
conduct showed that you were absolutely ignorant 
of what you had said and done overnight. At the 
same time. Miss Verinder’s language and conduct 
showed that she was resolved to say nothing (in 
mercy to you) on her side. If Mr. Godfrey Able- 
white chose to keep the Diamond, he might do so 
with perfect impunity. The Moonstone stood be¬ 
tween him and ruin. He put the Moonstone into 
his pocket. 


SERGEANT CUFF 


229 


V. 

This was the story told by your cousin (under 
pressure of necessity) to Mr. Luker. 

Mr. Luker believed the story to be, as to all 
main essentials, true — on this ground, that Mr. 
Godfrey Ablewhite was too great a fool to have 
invented it. Mr. Bruff and I agree with Mr. 
Luker, in considering this test of the truth of 
the story to be a perfectly reliable one. 

The next question was the question of what Mr. 
Luker would do, in the matter of the Moonstone. 
He proposed the following terms, as the only terms 
on which he would consent to mix himself up with 
what was (even in his line of business) a doubt¬ 
ful and dangerous transaction. 

Mr. Luker would consent to lend Mr. Godfrey 
Ablewhite the sum of two thousand pounds, on 
condition that the Moonstone was to be deposited 
with him as a pledge. If, at the expiration of one 
year from that date, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite paid 
three thousand pounds to Mr. Luker, he was to 
receive back the Diamond, as a pledge redeemed. 
If he failed to produce the money at the expira¬ 
tion of the year, the pledge (otherwise the Moon¬ 
stone) was to be considered as forfeited to Mr. 
Luker — who would, in this latter case, generously 


230 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

make Mr. Godfrey a present of certain promissory 
notes of his (relating to former dealings) which 
were then in the money-lender’s possession. 

It is needless to say that Mr. Godfrey indig¬ 
nantly refused to listen to these monstrous terms. 
Mr. Luker, thereupon, handed him back the Dia¬ 
mond, and wished him good-night. 

Your cousin went to the door, and came back 
again. How was he to be sure that the conversa¬ 
tion of that evening would be kept strictly a 
secret between his friend and himself? 

Mr. Luker didn’t profess to know how. If Mr. 
Godfrey had accepted his terms, Mr. Godfrey 
would have made him an accomplice, and might 
have counted on his silence as on a certainty. As 
things were, Mr. Luker must be guided by his own 
interests. If awkward inquiries were made, how 
could he be expected to compromise himself, for 
the sake of a man who had declined to deal with 
him? 

Receiving this reply, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite 
did, what all animals (human and otherwise) do, 
when they find themselves caught in a trap. He 
looked about him in a state of helpless despair. 
The day of the month, recorded on a neat little 
card in a box on the money-lender’s chimney-piece, 
happened to attract his eye. It was the twenty- 
third of June. On the twenty-fourth, he had three 


'sergeant cuff 


231 


hundred pounds to pay to the young gentleman 
for whom he was trustee, and no chance of raising 
the money, except the chance that Mr. Luker had 
offered to him. But for this miserable obstacle, 
he might have taken the Diamond to Amsterdam, 
and have made a marketable commodity of it, by 
having it cut up into separate stones. As matters 
stood, he had no choice but to accept Mr. Luker’s 
terms. After all, he had a year at his disposal, in 
which to raise the three thousand pounds — and 
a year is a long time. 

Mr. Luker drew out the necessary documents on 
the spot. When they were signed, he gave Mr. 
Godfrey Ablewhite two checks. One, dated June 
23d, for three hundred pounds. Another, dated 
a week on, for the remaining balance — seventeen 
hundred pounds. 

How the Moonstone was trusted to the keeping 
of Mr. Luker’s bankers, and how the Indians 
treated Mr. Luker and Mr. Godfrey (after that 
had been done) you know already. 

The next event in your cousin’s life, refers again 
to Miss Verinder. He proposed marriage to her 
for the second time — and (after having been ac¬ 
cepted) he consented, at her request, to consider 
the marriage as broken off. One of his reasons 
for making this concession has been penetrated by 
Mr. Bruff. Miss Verinder had only a life-interest 


232 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


in her mother’s property — and there was no 
raising the missing twenty thousand pounds on 
that. 

But you will say, he might have saved the three 
thousand pounds, to redeem the pledged Diamond, 
if he had married. He might have done so certainly 
— supposing neither his wife, nor her guardians 
and trustees, objected to his anticipating more than 
half of the income at his disposal, for some un¬ 
known purpose, in the first year of his marriage. 
But even if he got over this obstacle, there was 
another waiting for him in the background. The 
lady at the Villa had heard of his contemplated 
marriage. A superb woman, Mr. Blake, of the 
sort that are not to be trifled with — the sort with 
the light complexion and the Roman nose. She 
felt the utmost contempt for Mr. Godfrey Able- 
white. It would be silent contempt if he made a 
handsome provision for her. Otherwise, it would 
be contempt with a tongue to it. Miss Verinder’s 
life-interest allowed him no more hope of raising 
the “ provision,” than of raising the twenty thou¬ 
sand pounds. He couldn’t marry — he really 
couldn’t marry under all the circumstances. 

How he tried his luck again with another lady, 
and how that marriage also broke down on the 
question of money, you know already. You also 
know of the legacy of five thousand pounds, left 


SERGEANT CUFF 


235 


to him shortly afterward, by one of those many 
admirers among the soft sex whose good graces 
this fascinating man had contrived to win! That 
legacy (as the event has proved) led him to his 
death. 

I have ascertained that when he went abroad, on 
getting his five thousand pounds, he went to 
Amsterdam. There he made all the necessary ar¬ 
rangements for having the Diamond cut into sepa¬ 
rate stones. He came back (in disguise), and 
redeemed the Moonstone on the appointed day. 
A few days were allowed to elapse (as a precaution 
agreed to by both parties) before the jewel was 
actually taken out of the bank. If he had got 
safe with it to Amsterdam there would have been 
just time between July ’forty-nine and February 
’fifty (when the young gentleman came of age) 
to cut the Diamond, and to make a marketable 
commodity (polished or unpolished) of the sepa¬ 
rate stones. Judge from this what motives he 
had to run the risk which he actually ran. It was 
“ neck or nothing ” with him — if ever it was 
“ neck or nothing ” with a man yet. 

I have only to remind you, before closing this 
‘eport, that there is a chance of laying hands 
on the Indians, and of recovering the Moonstone 
yet. They are now (there is every reason to be¬ 
lieve) on their passage to Bombay on an East 


234 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Indiaman. The ship (barring accidents) will 
touch at no other port on her way out: and the 
authorities of Bombay (already communicated 
with by letter overland) will be prepared to 
board the vessel the moment she enters the harbor. 

I have the honor to remain, dear sir, your 
obedient servant, Richard Cuff (late Sergeant in 
the Detective Force, Scotland Yard, London). 


The Finding of the Diamond. 

I. 

THE STATEMENT OF SERGEANT CUFF^S MAN (1849). 

On the twenty-seventh of June last I received 
instructions from Sergeant Cuff to follow three 
men, suspected of murder, and described as In¬ 
dians. They had been seen on the Tower Wharf 
that morning, embarking on board the steamer 
bound for Rotterdam. 

I left London by a steamer belonging to another 
company, which sailed on the morning of Thurs¬ 
day, the 28th. 

Arriving at Rotterdam, I succeeded in finding 
the commander of the Wednesday’s steamer. He 


SERGEANT CUFF 


235 


informed me that the Indians had certainly been 
passengers on board his vessel — but as far as 
Gravesend only. Off that place, one of the three 
had inquired at what time they would reach Calais. 
On being informed that the steamer was bound 
to Rotterdam, the spokesman of the party ex¬ 
pressed the greatest surprise and distress at the 
mistake which he and his two friends had made. 
They were all willing (he said) to sacrifice their 
passage-money, if the commander of the steamer 
would only put them ashore. Commiserating their 
position, as foreigners in a strange land, and know¬ 
ing no reason for detaining them, the commander 
signaled for a shore boat, and the three men left 
the vessel. 

This proceeding of the Indians having been 
plainly resolved on beforehand, as a means of pre¬ 
venting their being traced, I lost no time in re¬ 
turning to England. I left the steamer at Graves¬ 
end, and discovered that the Indians had gone 
from that place to London. Thence I again traced 
them as having left for Plymouth. Inquiries made 
at Plymouth proved that they had sailed, forty- 
eight hours previously, in the Bewley Castle, East 
Indiaman, bound direct for Bombay. 

On receiving this intelligence. Sergeant Cuff 
caused the authorities at Bombay to be communi¬ 
cated with overland — so that the vessel might be 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


236 

boarded by the police immediately on her entering 
the port. This step having been taken, my connec¬ 
tion with the matter came to an end. I have heard 
nothing more of it since that time. 

II. 

THE STATEMENT OF THE CAPTAIN (1849). 

I am requested by Sergeant Cuff to set in writ¬ 
ing certain facts, concerning three men (believed 
to be Hindoos) who were passengers, last summer, 
in the ship Bewley Castle, bound for Bombay 
direct, under my command. 

The Hindoos joined us at Plymouth. On the 
passage out I heard no complaint of their conduct. 
They were berthed in the forward part of the 
vessel. I had but few occasions myself of person¬ 
ally noticing them. 

In the latter part of the voyage we had the mis¬ 
fortune to be becalmed for three days and nights 
off the coast of India. I have not got the ship’s 
Journal to refer to, and I cannot now call to mind 
the latitude and longitude. As to our position, 
therefore, I am only able to state generally that the 
currents drifted us in toward the land, and that, 
when the wind found us again, we reached our 
port in twenty-four hours afterward. 


SERGEANT CUFF 


237 


The discipline of a ship (as all sea-faring per¬ 
sons know) becomes relaxed in a long calm. The 
discipline of my ship became relaxed. Certain 
gentlemen among the passengers got some of the 
smaller boats lowered and amused themselves by 
rowing about, and swimming, when the sun, at 
evening time, was cool enough to let them divert 
themselves in that way. The boats, when done 
with, ought to have been slung up again in their 
places. Instead of this they were left moored to 
the ship^s side. What with the heat, and what 
with the vexation of the weather, neither officers 
nor men seemed to be in heart for their duty while 
the calm lasted. 

On the third night nothing unusual was heard or 
seen by the watch on deck. When the morning 
came the smallest of the boats was missing — and 
the three Hindoos were next reported to be miss¬ 
ing, too. 

If these men had stolen the boat shortly after 
dark (which I have no doubt they did), we were 
near enough to the land to make it vain to send 
in pursuit of them, when the discovery was made 
in the morning. I have no doubt they got ashore, 
in that calm weather (making all due allowance 
for fatigue and clumsy rowing), before daybreak. 

On reaching our port, I there learned, for the 
first time, the reason my three passengers had for 


238 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


seizing their opportunity of escaping from the ship. 
I could only make the same statement to the 
authorities which I have made here. They con¬ 
sidered me to blame for allowing the discipline of 
the vessel to be relaxed. I have expressed my 
regret on this score to them and to my owners. 
Since that time nothing has been heard, to my 
knowledge, of the three Hindoos. I have no more 
to add to what is here written. 


III. 

THE STATEMENT OF MR. MURTHV^^AITE (1850). 

(In a letter to Mr. Bruff.) 

Have you any recollection, my dear sir, of a 
semi-savage person whom you met out at dinner, 
in London, in the autumn of ’forty-eight? Per¬ 
mit me to remind you that the person’s name was 
Murthwaite, and that you and he had a long con¬ 
versation together after dinner. The talk related 
to an Indian Diamond, called the Moonstone, and 
to a conspiracy then in existence to get possession 
of the gem. 

Since that time I have been wandering in Cen¬ 
tral Asia. Thence, I have drifted back to the 
scene of some of my past adventures in the north 


SERGEANT CUFF 


239 


and northwest of India. About a fortnight since 
I found myself in a certain district or province 
(but little known to Europeans) called Kattiawar. 

Here an adventure befell me, in which (incred¬ 
ible as it may appear) you are personally inter¬ 
ested. 

In the wild regions of Kattiawar (and how wild 
they are you will understand when I tell you that 
even the husbandmen plow the land armed to the 
teeth) the population is fanatically devoted to the 
old Hindoo religion — to the ancient worship of 
Brahma and Vishnu. The few Mohammedan 
families, thinly scattered about the villages in the 
interior, are afraid to taste meat of any kind. A 
Mohammedan even suspected of killing that sacred 
animal, the cow, is, as a matter of course, put to 
death without mercy in these parts, by the pious 
Hindoo neighbors who surround him. To 
strengthen the religious enthusiasm of the people, 
two of the most famous shrines of Hindoo pilgrim¬ 
age are contained within the boundaries of Kattia¬ 
war. One of them is Dwarka, the birth-place of the 
god Krishna. The other is the sacred city of Som- 
nauth — sacked and destroyed as long since as 
the eleventh century, by the Mohammedan con¬ 
queror, Mahmoud of Ghizni. 

Finding myself, for the second time, in these 
romantic regions, I resolved not to leave Kattiawar 


240 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


without looking once more on the magnificent 
desolation of Somnauth. At the place where I 
planned to do this, I was (as nearly as I could cal¬ 
culate it) some three days distant, journeying on 
foot, from the sacred city. 

I had not been long on the road before I noticed 
that other people — by twos and threes — ap¬ 
peared to be traveling in the same direction as 
myself. 

To such of these as spoke to me I gave myself 
out as a Hindoo-Buddhist, from a distant province, 
bound on a pilgrimage. It is needless to say that 
my dress was of the sort to carry out this descrip¬ 
tion. Add, that I know the language as well as 
I know my own, and that I am lean enough and 
brown enough to make it no easy matter to detect 
my European origin — and you will understand 
that I passed muster with the people readily; 
not as one of themselves, but as a stranger from a 
different part of their own country. 

On the second day the number of Hindoos trav¬ 
eling in my direction had increased to fifties and 
hundreds. On the third day the throng had swol¬ 
len to thousands; all slowly converging to one 
point — the city of Somnauth. 

A trifling service which I was ab^ to render to 
one of my fellow pilgrims during the third day’s 
journey proved the means of introducing me to 


SERGEANT CUFF 


241 


certain Hindoos of the higher caste. From these 
men I learned that the multitude was on its way 
to a great religious ceremony, which was to take 
place on a hill at a little distance from Somnauth. 
The ceremony was in honor of the god of the 
Moon; and it was to be held at night. 

The crowd detained us as we drew near to the 
place of celebration. By the time we reached 
the hill the moon was high in the heavens. My 
Hindoo friends possessed some special privileges 
which enabled them to gain access to the shrine. 
They kindly allowed me to accompany them. 
When we arrived at the place v^e found the shrine 
hidden from our view by a curtain hung between 
two magnificent trees. Beneath the trees a flat 
projection of rock jutted out, and formed a species 
of natural platform. Below this I stood, in com¬ 
pany with my Hindoo friends. 

Looking back down the hill, the view presented 
the grandest spectacle of Nature and Man, in com¬ 
bination, that I have ever seen. The lower slope 
of the eminence melted imperceptibly into a grassy 
plain, the place of the meeting of three rivers. On 
one side the graceful winding of the waters 
stretched away, now visible, iJow hidden by trees, 
as far as the eye could see. On the other the 
waveless ocean slept in the calm of the night. 
People this lovely scene with tens of thousands of 


242 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


human creatures, all dressed in white, stretching 
down the sides of the hill, overflowing into the 
plain, and fringing the nearer banks of the wind¬ 
ing rivers. Light this halt of the pilgrims by the 
wild red flames of cressets and torches, streaming 
up at intervals from every part of the innumerable 
throng. Imagine the moonlight of the East, pour¬ 
ing in unclouded glory over all — and you will 
form some idea of the view that met me, when 
I looked forth from the summit of the hill. 

A strain of plaintive music, played on stringed 
instruments and flutes, recalled my attention to 
the hidden shrine. 

I turned, and saw on the rocky platform the fig¬ 
ures of three men. In the central figure of the 
three I recognized the man to whom I had spoken 
in England, when the Indians appeared on the ter¬ 
race at Lady Verinder’s house. The other two, 
who had been his companions on that occasion, 
were no doubt his companions also on this. 

One of the Hindoos, near whom I was standing, 
saw me start. In a whisper he explained to me 
the apparition of the three figures on the platform 
of the rock. 

They were Brahmins (he said) who had for¬ 
feited their caste in the service of the god. The 
god had commanded that their purification should 
be the purification by pilgrimage. On that night 


SERGEANT CUFF 


243 


the three men were to part. In three separate 
directions, they were to set forth as pilgrims to the 
shrines of India. Never more were they to look 
on each other’s faces. Never more were they to 
rest on their wanderings, from the day which wit¬ 
nessed their separation to the day which witnessed 
their death. 

As those words were whispered to me the plain¬ 
tive music ceased. The three men prostrated 
themselves on the rock, before the curtain which 
hid the shrine. They rose — they looked on one 
another — they embraced. Then they descended 
separately among the people. The people made 
way for them in dead silence. In three different 
directions I saw the crowd part at one and the 
same moment. Slowly the grand, white mass of the 
people closed together again. The track of the 
doomed men through the ranks of their fellow- 
mortals was obliterated. We saw them no more. 

A new strain of music, loud and jubilant, rose 
from the hidden shrine. The crowd around me 
shuddered and pressed together. 

The curtain between the trees was drawn aside, 
and the shrine was disclosed to view. 

There, raised high on a throne, seated on his 
typical antelope, with his four arms stretching 
toward the four corners of the earth, there soared 
above us, dark and awful in the mystic light of 


244 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

heaven, the god of the Moon. And there, in the 
forehead of the deity, gleamed the yellow Diamond 
whose splendor had last shone on me, in England, 
from the bosom of a woman’s dress I 

Yes; after the lapse of eight centuries the Moon¬ 
stone looks forth once more over the walls of the 
sacred city in which its story first began. How it 
has found its way back to its wild native land — 
by what accident, or by what crime, the Indians 
regained possession of their sacred gem — may be 
in your knowledge, but is not in mine. You have 
lost sight of it in England, and (if I know anything 
of this people) you have lost sight of it forever. 

So the years pass, and repeat each other; so 
the same events revolve in the cycle of Time. 
What will be the next adventures of the Moon¬ 
stone? Who can tell? 


Monsieur Lecoq ,— Master-Mind 


GABORIAU 


1 yjL • LECOQ was really an exaggeration ac¬ 
cording to a recent authority of the well-known 
and wonderfully able Paris detective M. Vidocq 
{A man of genius indeed in the arts of make-up, 
dissimulation, and deduction) but there is an in¬ 
dividuality in spite of the family likeness. The 
favored few in this generation who have read the 
Memoirs of Vidocq will readily catch this point. 
It remains to add that the art of making-up the 
face and figure, like an actor, which was very much 
resorted to in the first half of the nineteenth cen¬ 
tury in Europe, is now almost wholly outworn. 
Operatives nowadays often disguise themselves as 
laboring-men or followers of other humble callings, 
but the elaborate dressing-table of M. Lecoq de¬ 
scribed in this story would be considered laughable 
to-day. 

To speak of the detective-novel, says Carolyn 
Wells, to whom we owe the most careful study of 
the subject so far produced by an American, is to 
speak of Gaboriau. He cannot be called the father 
of it, but he made the field so peculiarly his own, 
developed its type of human nature so painstak- 
ingly, created so distinctive a reputation associated 
with it, that it is doubtful whether any one can be 
said to have outrivaled him. — Editor. 


Monsieur Lecoq ,— 
Master-Mind 

EMILE GABORIAU^ 

I N the Paris journal of February 28, 186 —, there 
appeared the following intelligence: 

“ A daring robbery, committed during the night 
at one of our principal bankers’, M. Andre Fauvel, 
has created great excitement this morning in the 
neighborhood of the Rue de Provence. The 
thieves, who were as skilful as they were daring, 
succeeded in effecting an entrance to the bank, in 
forcing the lock of a safe that has heretofore been 
considered impregnable, and in possessing them¬ 
selves of bank-notes, of the value of three hundred 
and fifty thousand francs. The police, immediately 
informed of the robbery, displayed their accus¬ 
tomed zeal, and their efforts have been crowned 
with success. Already, it is said, P. B., a clerk in 
the bank, has been arrested, and there is every 
reason to hope that his accomplices will be speed¬ 
ily overtaken by the hand of justice.” 

1 From File No. 113. 


248 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

For four days this robbery was the talk of Paris. 
Then public attention was engrossed by later and 
equally interesting events; an acrobat broke his 
leg at the circus; an actress made her dibut at a 
minor theatre; and news of the 28th was soon for¬ 
gotten. 

But for once the newspapers were — perhaps 
designedly — wrong, or at least inaccurate in their 
information. The sum of three hundred and fifty 
thousand francs had certainly been stolen from 
M. Andre Fauvel’s bank, but not in the manner 
described. A clerk had also been arrested on sus¬ 
picion, but no conclusive proof had been forthcom¬ 
ing against him. This robbery of unusual im¬ 
portance remained, if not inexplicable, at least 
unexplainable. 

At the same hour that Madame Nina Gipsy ^ 
was seeking refuge at the Grand Archangel, so 
highly recommended by Fanferlot, Prosper Ber- 
tomy was being consigned to the depot of the Pre¬ 
fecture of Police. From the moment he had 
resumed his habitual composure, he never once 
faltered. His face was stolid as marble, and one 
would have supposed him insensible to the horrors 
of his condition, had not his heavy breathing, and 

2 The mistress of Prosper Bertomy the suspect. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 249 

the beads of perspiration standing on his brow, 
betrayed the intense agony he was suffering. 

While Prosper was going through the formalities 
of the commitment, he replied with haughty brevity 
to the indispensable questions that were put to 
him. But after being ordered to empty his pockets 
on the table, they began to search him, his eyes 
flashed with indignation, and a single tear coursed 
down his flushed cheek. In an instant he had 
recovered his stony calmness, and stood up motion¬ 
less, with his arms raised in the air so that the 
rough creatures about him could more conveniently 
ransack him from head to foot, to assure them¬ 
selves that he had no suspicious object concealed 
under his clothes. 

The search would have, perhaps, been carried 
to the most ignominious lengths, but for the inter¬ 
vention of a middle-aged man of rather distin¬ 
guished appearance, who wore a white cravat and 
gold spectacles, and was sitting at his ease by the 
fire. He started with surprise, and seemed much 
agitated, when he saw Prosper brought in by the 
officers; he stepped forward, as if about to speak 
to him, then suddenly changed his mind, and sat 
down again. 

In spite of his own troubles. Prosper could not 
help perceiving that this man kept his eyes upon 
him. Did he know him? Vainly did he try to 


250 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


recollect having met him before. This individual, 
treated with all the deference due to a chief, was 
no less a personage than M. Lecoq, a celebrated 
member of the detective police. When the men who 
were searching Prosper were about to take off 
his boots, under the idea that a knife might be 
concealed in them, M. Lecoq waved them aside 
with an air of authority, and said: You have 
done enough.’^ 

He was obeyed. All the formalities being ended, 
the unfortunate cashier was taken to a narrow cell; 
the heavily-barred door was swung to and locked 
upon him; he breathed freely; at last he was alone. 
Yes, he believed himself to be alone. He was igno¬ 
rant that a prison is made of glass, that the pris¬ 
oner is like a miserable insect under the microscope 
of an entomologist. He knew not that the walls 
have listening ears and watchful eyes. He felt so 
certain of being alone that he at once gave vent 
to his suppressed feelings, and, dropping his mask 
of impassibility, burst into a flood of tears. His 
long-restrained anger now flashed out like a 
smouldering fire. In a paroxysm of rage he uttered 
imprecations and curses. He dashed himself 
against the prison walls like a wild beast in a cage. 

Seated at a desk in the middle of a large room, 
half library and half theatrical dressing-room, fur- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 2 51 

nished in a curious style, was the same individual 
with gold spectacles, who had said to Prosper at 
the Prefecture, “ Have courage.” This was M. 
Lecoq in his official character. 

Fanferlot,^ on his entrance, advanced respect¬ 
fully, bowing till his backbone was a perfect 
curve. M. Lecoq laid down his pen, and looking 
sharply at him, said: “ Ah, so here you are, young 
man. Well, it seems that you haven’t made much 
progress in Bertomy’s case.” 

“ What,” murmured Fanferlot, “ you know — ” 
I know that you have muddled everything until 
you can’t see your way out; so that you are ready 
to give in.” 

“ But, M. Lecoq, it was not I — ” 

M. Lecoq rose, and walked up and down the 
room; suddenly he confronted Fanferlot, and said 
in a tone of scornful irony: “ What would you 
think, Master Squirrel, of a man who abuses the 
confidence of those who employ him, who reveals 
just enough to lead the prosecution on the wrMig 
scent, who sacrifices to his own foolish vanity the 
cause of justice and the liberty of an unfortunate 
prisoner? ” 

Fanferlot started back with a scared look. “ I 
should say,” he stammered, “ I should say — ” 

“ You would say this man ought to be punished, 
3 The detective who has been first detailed. 


252 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

and dismissed from his employment; and you are 
right. The less a profession is honored, the more 
honorable should those be who belong to it. And 
yet you have been false to yours. Ah! Master 
Squirrel, we are ambitious, and we try to make the 
police service forward our own views! We let 
justice go astray, and we go on a different tack. 
One must be a more cunning bloodhound than you 
are, my friend, to be able to hunt without a hunts¬ 
man. You are too self-reliant by half.” 

“ But, my chief, I swear — ” 

“ Silence! Do you pretend to say that you did 
your duty, and told all you knew to the investigat¬ 
ing magistrate? Whilst others were giving infor¬ 
mation against the cashier, you were getting 
up evidence against the banker. You watched 
his movements; you became intimate with his 
valet.” 

Was M. Lecoq really angry, or pretending to 
be so? Fanferlot, who knew him well, was puzzled 
as to whether all this indignation was real. 

Still, if you were only skilful,” continued M. 
Lecoq, “it would be another matter; but no; you 
wish to be master, and you are not even fit to be 
a journeyman.” 

“You are right, my chief,” said Fanferlot pit¬ 
eously, for he saw that it was useless for him to 
deny anything. “ But how could I go about an 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 2 53 

affair like this, where there was not even a trace, 
a sign of any kind to start from? ” 

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders. “ You are an 
ass! ” exclaimed he. “ Why, don’t you know that 
on the very day you were sent for with the com¬ 
missary to verify the fact of the robbery, you held 

— I do not say certainly, but very probably held 

— in your great stupid hands the means of knowing 
which key had been used when the money was 
stolen? ” 

How is that? ” 

“ You want to know, do you? I will tell you. 
Do you remember the scratch you discovered on 
the safe? You were so struck by it, that you could 
not refrain from calling out directly you saw it. 
You carefully examined it, and were convinced 
that it was a fresh scratch, only a few hours old. 
You thought, and rightly too, that this scratch 
was made at the time of the theft. Now, with 
what was it made? Evidently with a key. That 
being the case, you should have asked for the keys 
both of the banker and the cashier. One of them 
would have probably had some particles of the 
hard green paint sticking to it.” 

Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this ex¬ 
planation. At the last words, he violently slapped 
his forehead with his hand and cried out: “ Idiot! 
idiot! ” 


254 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ You have correctly named yourself,” said M. 
Lecoq. “ Idiot! This proof stares you right in 
the face, and you don’t see it! This scratch is 
the only clew there is to follow, and you must like 
a fool neglect it. If I find the guilty party, it 
will be by means of this scratch; and I am deter¬ 
mined that I will find him.” 

At a distance the Squirrel very bravely abuses 
and defies M. Lecoq; but, in his presence, he 
yields to the influence which this extraordinary 
man exercises upon all who approach him. This 
exact information, these minute details just given 
him, so upset his mind that he could not imagine 
where and how M. Lecoq had obtained them. 
Finally he humbly said: “ You have then been 
occupying yourself with this case, my chief? ” 

“ Probably I have; but I am not infallible, and 
may have overlooked some important evidence. 
Take a seat, and tell me all you know.” 

Fanferlot, knowing he could not falsify anything 
to M. Lecoq, told him all he knew, and in return 
discovered that M. Lecoq already knew it. 

“ Then, my chief,” said Fanferlot, “ you have 
been more successful than Madame Alexandre; 
you have made the little girl * confess? You know 
why she leaves the Grand Archangel, why she does 
not wait for M. de Lagors, and why she has bought 
herself some cotton dresses? ” 

* Mme. Nina Gipsy, Bertomy’s mistress. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 255 

She is following my advice.’’ 

That being the case,” said the detective de¬ 
jectedly, “ there is nothing left for me to do, but 
to acknowledge myself an ass.” 

“ No, Squirrel,” said M. Lecoq kindly, “ you 
are not an ass. You merely did wrong in undertak¬ 
ing a task beyond your capacity. Have you 
progressed one step since you started in this affair? 
No. That shows that, although you are incom¬ 
parable as a lieutenant, you do not possess the 
qualities of a general. I am going to present you 
with an aphorism; remember it, and let it be your 
guide in the future: ‘ A man can shine in the second 
rank, who would be totally eclipsed in the first.’ ” 
Never had Fanferlot seen his chief so talkative 
and good-natured. Finding his deceit discovered, 
he had expected to be overwhelmed with a storm 
of anger; whereas he had escaped with a little 
shower that had cooled his brain. Lecoq’s anger 
disappeared like one of those heavy clouds which 
threaten in the horizon for a moment, and then are 
suddenly swept away by a gust of wind. 

But this unexpected affability made Fanferlot 
feel uneasy. He was afraid that something might 
be concealed beneath it. Do you know who the 
thief is, my chief? ” he inquired. 

know no more than you do, Fanferlot; and 
you seem to have made up your mind, whereas I 
am still undecided. You declare the cashier to be 


256 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

innocent, and the banker guilty. I don’t know 
whether you are right or wrong. I follow after you, 
and have got no further than the preliminaries of 
my investigation. I am certain of but one thing, 
and that is, the scratch on the safe door. That 
scratch is my starting point.” 

As he spoke, M. Lecoq took from his desk an 
immense sheet of paper which he unrolled. On this 
paper was photographed the door of M. Fauvel’s 
safe. Every detail was rendered perfectly. There 
were the five movable buttons with the engraved 
letters, and the narrow, projecting brass lock. The 
scratch was indicated with great exactness. 

“ Now,” said M. Lecoq, “ here is our scratch. 
It runs from top to bottom, starting diagonally, 
from the keyhole, and proceeding from left to 
right; that is to say, it terminates on the side next 
to the private staircase leading to the banker’s 
apartments. Although very deep at the keyhole, 
it ends in a scarcely perceptible mark.” 

“ Yes, my chief, I see all that.” 

‘‘Naturally you thought that this scratch was 
made by the person who took the mone^. Let us 
see if you were right. I have here a little iron box, 
painted green like M. Fauvel’s safe; here it is. 
Take a key, and try to scratch it.” 

“ The deuce take it! ” said Fanferlot after sev¬ 
eral attempts, “ this paint is awfully hard to 
move! ” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 257 

“ Very hard, my friend, and yet that on the 
safe is harder still, and more solid. So you see 
the scratch you discovered could not have been 
made by the trembling hand of a thief letting the 
key slip.’’ 

Sapristi! ” exclaimed Fanferlot amazed; “ I 
never should have thought of that. It certainly 
required great force to make the deep scratch on 
the safe.” 

“ Yes, but how was that force applied? I have 
been racking my brain for three days, and it was 
only yesterday that I came to a conclusion. Let 
us examine if my conjectures present enough 
chances of probability to establish a starting 
point.” 

M. Lecoq put the photograph aside, and, walking 
to the door communicating with his bedroom, took 
the key from the lock, and, holding it in his hands, 
said: Come here, Fanferlot, and stand by my 

side, there; very well. Now suppose that I want 
to open this door, and that you don’t wish me to 
open it; when you see me about to insert the key, 
what would be your first impulse? ” 

“ To put my hands on your arm, and draw it 
towards me so as to prevent your introducing the 
key.” 

“ Precisely so. Now let us try it; go on.” Fan¬ 
ferlot obeyed; and the key held by M. Lecoq, 
pulled aside from the lock, slipped along the door, 


258 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


and traced upon it, from above to below, a diag¬ 
onal scratch, the exact reproduction of the one in 
the photograph. 

“ Oh, oh, oh! exclaimed Fanferlot in three 
different tones of admiration, as he stood gazing 
in a reverie at the door. 

‘‘ Do you begin to understand? ” asked M. 
Lecoq. 

Understand, my chief? Why, a child could 
understand it now. Ah, what a man you are! I 
see the scene as if I had been there. Two persons 
were present at the robbery; one wished to take 
the money, the other wished to prevent its being 
taken. That is clear, that is certain.” 

Accustomed to triumphs of this sort, M. Lecoq 
was much amused at Fanferlot’s enthusiasm. 
“ There you go off, half-primed again,” he said 
good-humoredly; “you regard as certain proof 
a circumstance which may be accidental, and at the 
most only probable.” 

“No, my chief; no! a man like you could not 
be mistaken; doubt is no longer possible.” 

“ That being the case, what deductions would 
you draw from our discovery? ” 

“ In the first place, it proved that I am correct 
in thinking the cashier innocent.” 

“ How so? ” 

“ Because, being at perfect liberty to open the 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 259 

safe whenever he wished to do so, it is not likely 
that he would have had a witness present when 
he intended to commit the theft.” 

“ Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this suppo¬ 
sition the banker would be equally innocent; re¬ 
flect a little.” 

Fanferlot reflected, and all his confidence van¬ 
ished. “ You are right,” he said in a despairing 
tone. “ What can be done now? ” 

Look for the third rogue, or rather the real 
rogue, the one who opened the safe, and stole the 
notes, and who is still at large, while others are 
suspected.” 

“Impossible, my chief, impossible! Don’t you 
know that M. Fauvel and his cashier had keys, and 
they only? And they always kept these keys in 
their possession.” 

“ On the evening of the robbery the banker 
left his key in his escritoire.” 

“Yes; but the key alone was not sufficient to 
open the safe; it was necessary that the word 
also should be known.” 

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
“ What was the word? ” he asked. 

“ Gipsy.” 

“Which is the name of the cashier’s mistress. 
Now keep your eyes open. The day you find a 
man sufficiently intimate with Prosper to be aware 


260 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

of all the circumstances connected with this name, 
and who is at the same time on such a footing 
with the Fauvel family as would give him the priv¬ 
ilege of entering M. Fauvel’s chamber, then, and 
not until then, will you discover the guilty party. 
On that day the problem will be solved.” 

I shall rely upon you,” continued M. Lecoq. 
“ Now to begin, you must carry this photograph 
to the investigating magistrate. I know M. Patri- 
gent is much perplexed about the case. Explain to 
him as if it were your own discovery, what I have 
just shown you; repeat for his benefit the experi¬ 
ment we have performed, and I am convinced that 
this evidence will determine him to release the 
cashier. Prosper must be at liberty before I can 
commence my operations.” 

“ Of course, my chief; but must I let him know 
that I suspect any one besides the banker or 
cashier? ” 

Certainly. The authorities must not be kept 
in ignorance of your intention of following up this 
affair. M. Patrigent will tell you to watch Prosper; 
you will reply that you will not lose sight of him. 
I myself will answer for his being in safe keeping.” 
“ Suppose he asks me about Nina Gipsy? ” 

M. Lecoq hesitated for a moment. Tell him,” 
he finally said, that you persuaded her, in the 
interest of Prosper, to live in a house where she 
can watch some one whom you suspect.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 261 

Fanferlot rolled up the photograph and joyously 
seized hold of his hat, intending to depart, when M. 
Lecoq checked him by waving his hand, and said: 
“ I have not finished yet. Do you know how to 
drive a carriage and manage horses? ” 

“ How can you ask such a question as this, my 
chief, of a man who used to be a rider in the 
Bouthor Circus? ” 

“ Very good. As soon as the magistrate dis¬ 
misses you, return home immediately, obtain for 
yourself a wig and the complete dress of a valet; 
and, when you are ready, take this letter to the 
agency for servants at the corner of the Passage 
Delorme.’’ 

But, my chief — ” 

“There must be no but, my friend; the agent 
will send you to M. de Clameran, who is wanting 
a valet, his man having left him yesterday.” 

“ Excuse me, if I venture to suggest that I 
think you are laboring under a wrong impression. 
This De Clameran is not the cashier’s friend.” 

“ Why do you always interrupt me? ” said M. 
Lecoq imperiously. “ Do what I tell you, and 
don’t disturb your mind about the rest. I know 
that De Clameran is not a friend of Prosper’s; but 
he is the friend and protector of Raoul de Lagors. 
Why so? Whence the intimacy of these two men 
of such different ages? That is what I must find 
out. I must also find out who this ironmaster is 


262 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


who spends all his time in Paris, and never goes 
to look after his forges. An individual, who takes 
it into his head to live at the Hotel du Louvre, in 
the midst of a constantly changing crowd, is a 
fellow difficult to watch. Through you I will keep 
an eye upon him. He has a carriage, which you 
will have to drive; and you will soon be able 
to give me an account of his manner of life, 
and of the sort of people with whom he asso¬ 
ciates.” 

You shall be obeyed, my chief.” 

‘‘Another thing. M. de Clameran is irritable 
and suspicious. You will be presented to him 
under the name of Joseph Dubois. He will ask 
for certificates of your good character. Here are 
three, which state that you have lived with the 
Marquis de Sairmeuse and the Count de Commarin, 
and that you have just left the Baron de Wort- 
schen, who went to Germany the other day. Now 
keep your eyes open ; be careful of your get-up and 
manners. Be polite, but not excessively so. And, 
above all things, don’t be too honest; it might 
arouse suspicion/’ 

“ I understand, my chief. Where shall I report 
to you? ” 

“ I will see you daily. Until I tell you differ¬ 
ently, don’t put foot in this house; you might be 
followed. If anything important should happen, 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 263 

send a telegram to your wife, and she will inform 
me. Go, and be prudent.” 

The door closed on Fanferlot as M. Lecoq passed 
into his bedroom. In the twinkling of an eye the 
latter divested himself of the appearance of chief 
detective. But in an hour he had accomplished 
one of his daily masterpieces. When he had fin¬ 
ished, he was no longer Lecoq. 

“ Well,” he said, casting a last look in the 
mirror, “ I have forgotten nothing; I have left 
nothing to chance. All my plans are fixed; and 
I shall make some progress to-day, provided the 
Squirrel does not waste time.” 

But Fanferlot was too happy to waste even a 
minute. He did not run, he flew, towards the 
Palais de Justice. At last he was able to convince 
some one that he, Fanferlot, was a man of wonder¬ 
ful perspicacity. As to acknowledging that he 
was about to obtain a triumph with the ideas of 
another man, he never thought of such a thing. It 
is generally in perfect good faith that the jack¬ 
daw struts about in the peacock’s feathers. 

Fanferlot’s hopes were not deceived. If the 
magistrate was not absolutely convinced, he ad¬ 
mired the ingenuity and shrewdness of the whole 
proceeding. “ This decides me,” he said, as he 
dismissed Fanferlot. I will draw up a favorable 
report to-day; and it is highly probable that the 


264 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

accused will be released to-morrow.” He began 
at once to write out one of those terrible decisions 
of “Not proven,” which restores liberty, but not 
honor, to the accused man; which says that he is 
not guilty, but does not say that he is innocent: 

“ Whereas sufficient proofs are wanting against 
the accused. Prosper Bertomy, in pursuance of 
Article 128 of the Criminal Code, we hereby de¬ 
clare that no grounds at present exist for prose¬ 
cuting the aforsesaid prisoner; and we order that 
he be released from the prison where he is confined, 
and set at liberty by the jailer,” etc. 

“ Well,” said he to the clerk, “ here we have 
another of those crimes which justice cannot clear 
up. The mystery remains to be solved. There is 
another file to be stowed away among the police 
records.” And with his own hand he wrote on 
the cover of the bundle of papers relating to 
Prosper^s case, its number of rotation: File No. 

113* 

Prosper had been languishing in his cell for 
nine days, when one Thursday morning the jailer 
came to appraise him of the magistrate’s decision. 
He was conducted before the officer who had 
searched him when he was arrested; and his watch, 
penknife, and several small articles of jewelry. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 265 

were restored to him; then he was told to sign a 
large sheet of paper, which he did. 

He was next led across a dark passage, and al¬ 
most pushed through a door, which was abruptly 
shut upon him. He found himself on the quay; 
he was alone; he was free. 

His first thought of a friend was Nina Gipsy. 
He went at once to the house in Rue Chaptal. The 
concierge greeted him gladly, informing him that 
no one remained in the house, who knew him, but 
his father’s friend, the stout gentleman with red 
whiskers. 

Prosper was astounded. What could be the 
meaning of one of his father’s friends occupying 
his rooms? He did not, however, betray his sur¬ 
prise, but quietly said: “ Yes, I know who it is.” 

He quickly ran up the stairs, and knocked at 
his door, which was at once opened by his father’s 
friend. He had been accurately described by the 
concierge. A stout man, with a red face, full lips, 
sharp eyes, and of rather coarse manners, stood 
bowing to Prosper, who had never seen him before.® 
“ Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir,” said 
he. 

He seemed to be perfectly at home. On the table 
lay a book, which he had taken from the book- 
5 M. Lecoq. 


266 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

case; and he appeared ready to do the honors of 
the place. 

“ I must say, sir,” began Prosper. 

“ That you are surprised to find me here? So 
I suppose. Your father intended introducing me 
to you; but he was compelled to return to Beau- 
caire this morning; and let me add that he departed 
thoroughly convinced, as I myself am, that you 
never took a sou from M. Fauvel.” 

At this unexpected good news, Prosper’s face lit 
up with pleasure. 

“ Here is a letter from your father, which I hope 
will serve as an introduction between us.” 

Prosper opened the letter; and as he read his 
eyes grew brighter, and a slight color returned to 
his pale face. When he had finished he held out 
his hand to the stout gentlman, and said: “ My 
father tells me, sir, that you are his best friend; 
he advises me to have absolute confidence in you, 
and to follow your advice.” 

“ Exactly. This morning your father said to 
me: ‘ Verduret ’ — that is my name — ‘ Verduret, 
my son is in great trouble, and must be helped out 
of it.’ I replied: ‘ I am both ready and willing,’ 
and here I am to assist you. Now the ice is 
broken, is it not? Then let us go to work at 
once. What do you intend doing? ” 

This question revived Prosper’s slumbering rage. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 267 

His eyes flashed. What do I intend doing? ’’ 
said he angrily; ‘‘what should I do but seek the 
villain who has ruined me? ” 

“ So I supposed; but have you any means of 
success? 

“None; yet I shall succeed, because, when a 
man devotes his whole life to the accomplishment 
of an object, he is certain to achieve it.” 

“ Well said, M. Prosper; and, to be frank, I 
fully expected that this would be your purpose. 
I have therefore already begun to think and act 
for you. I have a plan. In the first place, you 
will sell this furniture, and disappear from the 
neighborhood.” 

“Disappear! ” cried Prosper indignantly; “dis¬ 
appear! Why, sir! do you not see that such a step 
would be a confession of guilt, would authorize 
the world to say that I am in hiding so as to enjoy 
undisturbed the stolen 350,000 francs? ” 

“ Well, what then? ” asked the man with the red 
whiskers; “did you not say just now that the 
sacrifice of your life is made? The expert swimmer 
thrown into the river, after being robbed, is care¬ 
ful not rise to the surface immediately; on the 
contrary, he plunges beneath, and remains there 
as long as his breath holds out. He comes up 
again at a great distance off, and lands out of sight; 
then, when he is supposed to be dead, he suddenly 


268 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


reappears and has his revenge. You have an 
enemy? Some petty imprudence will betray him. 
But, while he sees you standing by on the watch, 
he will be on his guard.” 

It was with a sort of amazed submission that 
Prosper listened to this man, who, though a friend 
of his father, was an utter stranger to himself. He 
submitted unconsciously to the ascendency of a 
nature so much more energetic and forcible than 
his own. In his helpless condition he was grateful 
for friendly assistance, and said: ‘‘ I will follow 
your advice, sir.” 

I was sure you would, my dear fellow. Let 
us reflect upon the course you ought to pursue. 
And remember that you will need every franc of 
the proceeds of the sale. Have you any ready 
money? no, but you must have some. Knowing 
that you would need this at once, I have already 
spoken to an upholsterer; and he will give you 
twelve thousand francs for everything, minus the 
pictures.” 

The cashier could not refrain from shrugging 
his shoulders, which M. Verduret observed. 

Well,” said he, it is rather hard, I admit, but 
it is a necessity. Now listen; you are the invalid, 
and I am the doctor charged to cure you; if I 
cut to the quick, you will have to endure it. It is 
the only way to save you.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 269 

Cut away then,” answered Prosper. 

“ Well, we will make haste, for time presses. 
You have a friend, M. de Lagors? ” 

“ Raoul? Yes, he is an intimate friend of 
mine.” 

Now tell me, who is this fellow? ” 

The term “ fellow ” seemed to offend Prosper. 
“ M. de Lagors,” he said haughtily, “ is M. 
FauvePs nephew; he is a wealthy young man, 
handsome, intelligent, cultivated, and the best 
friend I have.” 

“ Hum! ” said M. Verduret, “ I shall be de¬ 
lighted to make the acquaintance of one adorned 
by so many charming qualities. I must let you 
know that I wrote him a note in your name asking 
him to come here, and he sent word that he would 
come.” 

“ What! do you suppose — ” 

Oh, I suppose nothing! Only I must see this 
young man. Also I have arranged and will submit 
to you a little plan of conversation — ” A ring 
at the outer door interrupted M. Verduret. “ The 
deuce! ” exclaimed he; ‘‘adieu to my plan; here 
he is! Where can I hide so as to both hear and 
see? ” 

“There, in my bedroom; leave the door open 
and the curtain down.” 

A second ring was heard. “Now remember. 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


270 

Prosper/’ said M. Verduret in a warning tone, “ not 
one word to this man about your plans, or about 
me. Pretend to be discouraged, helpless, and un¬ 
decided what to do.” And he disappeared behind 
the curtain as Prosper ran to open the door. 

Prosper’s portrait of M. de Lagors was no exag¬ 
gerated one. Such an open and handsome coun¬ 
tenance, and manly figure, could belong only to 
a noble character. Although Raoul said he was 
twenty-four, he appeared to be not more than 
twenty. He had a fine figure, well knit and supple; 
an abundance of light chestnut-colored hair, curled 
over his intelligent-looking forehead, and his large 
blue eyes, which beamed with candor. His first 
impulse was to throw himself into Prosper’s arms. 

My poor, dear friend! ” he said, my poor 
Prosper! ” 

But beneath these affectionate demonstrations 
there was a certain constraint, which, if it escaped 
the perception of the cashier, was noticed by M. 
Verduret. Your letter, my dear Prosper,” said 
Raoul, “ made me almost ill, I was so frightened by 
it. I asked myself if you could have lost your 
mind. Then I put aside everything, to hasten to 
your assistance; and here I am.” 

Prosper did not seem to hear him; his thoughts 
were occupied with the letter which he had not 
written. What were its contents? Who was this 
stranger whose assistance he had accepted? 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 271 

“ You must not feel discouraged,’^ continued 
M. de Lagors; “you are young enough to com¬ 
mence life anew. Your friends are still left to 
you. I have come to say to you: ‘ Rely upon me; 
I am rich, half of my fortune is at your disposal.’ ” 
This generous offer, made at a moment like this 
with such frank simplicity, deeply touched Prosper. 
“ Thanks, Raoul,” he said with emotion, “ thank 
you! But unfortunately all the money in the 
world would be of no use now.” 

“Why so? What, then, are you going to do? 
Do you propose to remain in Paris? ” 

“ I know not, Raoul. I have formed no plan yet. 
My mind is too confused for me to think.” 

“ I will tell you what to do,” resumed Raoul 
quickly; “you must start afresh; until this mys¬ 
terious robbery is explained you must keep away 
from Paris. Excuse my frankness, but it will never 
do for you to remain here.” 

“ And suppose it never should be explained? ” 

“ Only the more reason for your remaining in 
oblivion. I have been talking about you to De 
Clameran. ‘ If I were in Prosper’s place,’ he 
said, ‘ I would turn everything into money, and 
embark for America; there I would make a fortune, 
and return to crush with my millions those who 
have suspected me.’ ” 

This advice offended Prosper’s pride, but he 
interposed no kind of objection. He was recalling 


272 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

to mind what his unknown visitor had said to 
him. I will think it over,” he finally observed. 

I will see. I should like to know what M. Fauvel 
says.” 

“ My uncle? I suppose you know that I have 
declined the offer he made me to enter his banking 
house, and we have almost quarrelled. I have 
not set foot in his house for over a month; but I 
hear of him occasionally.” 

“ Through whom? ” 

Through your friend Cavaillon. My uncle, 
they say, is more distressed by this affair than you 
are. He does not attend to his business, and seems 
as though he had just recovered from some serious 
illness.” 

“ And Madame Fauvel, and — ” Prosper hesi¬ 
tated — “ and Mademoiselle Madeleine, how are 
they? ” 

“ Oh,” said Raoul lightly, my aunt is as pious 
as ever; she has mass said for the benefit of the 
sinner. As to my handsome, icy cousin, she cannot 
bring herself down to common matters because 
she is entirely absorbed in preparing for the fancy 
ball to be given the day after to-morrow by MM. 
Jandidier. She has discovered, so one of her 
friends told me, a wonderful dressmaker, a stranger 
who has suddenly appeared from no one knows 
where, and who is making for her a costume of 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 273 

one of Catherine de Medicis’ maids of honor. I 
hear it is to be a marvel of beauty.’’ 

Excessive suffering brings with it a kind of dull 
insensibility and stupor; but this last remark of 
M. de Lagors’ touched Prosper to the quick, and 
he murmured faintly: “ Madeleine! O Made¬ 
leine! ” 

M. de Lagors, pretending not to have heard 
him, rose from his chair, and said: “ I must leave 
you now, my dear Prosper; on Saturday I shall see 
these ladies at the ball, and bring you news of 
them. Now, take courage, and remember that, 
whatever happens, you have a friend in me.” 

Raoul shook Prosper by the hand and departed, 
leaving the latter standing immovable and over¬ 
come by disappointment. He was aroused from 
his gloomy reverie by hearing the red-whiskered 
man saying in a bantering tone, “ So this is one 
of your friends? ” 

“ Yes,” said Prosper with bitterness. “ Yet you 
heard him offer me half of his fortune? ” 

M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders with an air 
of compassion. “ That was very stingy on his 
part,” said he; why did he not offer the whole? 
Offers cost nothing; although I have no doubt 
that this sweet youth would cheerfully give ten 
thousand francs to put the ocean between you and 
him.” 


274 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ What reason, sir, would he have for doing 
this? ” 

“Who knows? Perhaps for the same reason 
that he told you he had not set foot in his uncle’s 
house for a month.” 

“ But that is the truth, I am sure of it.” 

“ Naturally,” said M. Verduret with a provoking 
smile. “ But,” continued he with a serious air, 
“ we have devoted enough time to this Adonis, 
whose measure I have taken. Now, be good enough 
to change your dress, and we will go and call on 
M. Fauvel.” 

This proposal aroused Prospers anger. 
“ Never!” he exclaimed excitedly: “ no, never will 
I voluntarily set eyes on that wretch! ” 

This resistance did not surprise M. Verduret. 
“ I can understand your feelings towards him,” 
said he; “ but at the same time I hope you will 
change your mind. For the same reason that I 
wished to see M. de Lagors, I desire to see M. 
Fauvel; it is necessary, you understand. Are you 
so weak that you cannot contain yourself for five 
minutes? I shall introduce myself as one of your 
relatives, and you need not open your lips.” 

“ If it is positively necessary,” said Prosper, 
“ if — ” 

“ It is necessary; so come on. You must have 
confidence, and put on a brave face. Hurry and 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 275 

make yourself trim; it is getting late, and I am 
hungry. We will lunch on our way there.” 

Prosper had hardly passed into his bedroom 
when the bell rang again. M. Verduret opened the 
door. It was the concierge, who handed him a 
bulky letter, and said: “ This letter was left this 
morning for M. Bertomy; I was so flustered when 
he came that I forgot to hand it to him. It is 
a very odd-looking letter; is it not, sir? ” 

It was indeed a most peculiar missive. The ad¬ 
dress was not written, but formed of printed 
letters, carefully cut from a book, and pasted on 
the envelope. 

“ Oh, ho! what is this! ” cried M. Verduret; 
then turning towards the man he said: “ Wait a 
moment.” He went into the next room, and closed 
the door behind him. There he found Prosper, 
anxious to know what was going on. “ Here is a 
letter for you,” observed M. Verduret. 

Prosper at once tore open the envelope. Some 
bank notes dropped out; he counted them; there 
were ten. The cashier turned very red. “ What 
does this mean? ” he asked. 

“ We will read the letter and find out,” replied 
Verduret, shortly. 

The letter, like the address, was composed of 
printed words cut out and pasted on a sheet of 
paper. It was short but explicit: 


276 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


My dear Prosper — A friend, who knows the 
horror of your situation, sends you this succor. 
There is one heart, be assured, that shares your 
sufferings. Go away — leave France. You are 
young; the future is before you. Go, and may this 
money bring you happiness! ’’ 

As M. Verduret read the note. Prosper’s rage 
increased. He was angry and perplexed, for he 
could not explain the rapidly succeeding events 
which were so calculated to mystify his already 
confused brain. ‘‘ Everybody wishes me to go 
away,” he cried; “there is evidently a conspiracy 
against me.” 

M. Verduret smiled with satisfaction. “ At last 
you begin to open your eyes, you begin to under¬ 
stand. Yes, there are people who hate you because 
of the wrong they have done you; there are people 
to whom your presence in Paris is a constant dan¬ 
ger, and who will not feel safe till they are rid of 
you.” 

“ But who are these people? Tell me, who dares 
send this money? ” 

“ If I knew, my dear Prosper, my task would 
be at an end, for then I should know who com¬ 
mitted the robbery. But we will continue our re¬ 
searches. I have finally procured evidence which 
will sooner or later become convincing proof. I 
have heretofore only made deductions more or less 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 277 

probable; I now possess knowledge which proves 
that I was not mistaken. I walked in darkness; 
now I have a light to guide me.” 

As Prosper listened to M. Verduret’s reassuring 
words, he felt hope rising in his breast. 

“ Now,” said M. Verduret, we must take ad¬ 
vantage of this evidence, gained by the impru¬ 
dence of our enemies, without delay. We will be¬ 
gin with the concierge.” 

He opened the door, and called out: “ I say, my 
good man, step here a moment.” 

The concierge entered, looking very much sur¬ 
prised at the authority exercised over his lodger 
by this stranger. 

“ Who gave you this letter? ” asked M. Verduret. 

A messenger, who said he was paid for bring¬ 
ing it.” 

“ Do you know him? ” 

“ I know him well; he is the commissionaire 
whose post is at the corner of the Rue Pigalle.” 

“ Go and bring him here.” 

After the concierge had gone, M. Verduret drew 
his diary from his pocket and compared a page of 
it with the notes which he had spread over the table. 
“ These notes were not sent by the thief,” he 
said, after an attentive examination of them. 

“ Do you think so? ” 

I am confident of it; that is, unless he is en- 


278 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

dowed with extraordinary penetration and fore¬ 
thought. One thing is certain: these ten thousand 
francs are not part of the three hundred and fifty 
thousand which were stolen from the safe.’^ 

“ Yet,” said Prosper, who could not account 
for this certainty on the part of his protector, 
“ yet — ” 

There is no yet about it; I have the numbers 
of all the stolen notes.” 

“ What! When even I do not know them my¬ 
self? ” 

“ But the Bank did, fortunately. When we 
undertake an affair we must anticipate everything, 
and forget nothing. It is a poor excuse for a man 
to say, ‘ I did not think of it,’ when he commits 
some oversight. I thought of the Bank.” 

If in the beginning Prosper had felt some repug¬ 
nance about confiding in his father’s friend, the 
feeling had now disappeared. He understood that 
alone, scarcely master of himself, governed only by 
the inspirations of inexperience, he would never 
have had the patient perspicacity of this singular 
man. 

Verduret continued, talking to himself, as if he 
had absolutely forgotten Prosper’s presence; 

Then, as this missive did not come from the 
thief, it can only come from the other person, who 
was near the safe at the time of the robbery, but 
could not prevent it, and now feels remorse. The 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 279 

probability of two persons assisting at the robbery, 
a probability suggested by the scratch, is now con¬ 
verted into a certainty. Ergo, I was right.” 

Prosper, listening attentively, tried hard to com¬ 
prehend this monologue, which he dared not in¬ 
terrupt. 

“ Let us seek,” the stout man went on to say, 
“ this second person, whose conscience pricks him, 
and yet who dares not reveal anything.” Here he 
read the letter over several times, scanning the 
sentences, and weighing every word. ‘‘ Evidently 
this letter was composed by a woman,” he finally 
said. “ Never would a man doing another man a 
service, and sending him money, use the word ^ suc¬ 
cor.’ A man would have said, loan, money, or 
some other equivalent, but succor, never. No one 
but a woman, ignorant of masculine susceptibilities, 
would have naturally made use of this word to 
express the idea it represents. As to the sentence, 
‘ There is one heart ’ and so on, it could only have 
been written by a woman.” 

“ You are mistaken, sir, I think,” said Prosper; 
“ no woman is mixed up in this affair.” 

M. Verduret paid no attention to this interrup¬ 
tion; perhaps he did not hear it, perhaps he did 
not care to argue the matter. “ Now, let us see 
if we can discover whence the printed words were 
taken to compose this letter.” 

He went to the window, and began to study the 


28 o 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


pasted words with all the scrupulous attention 
which an antiquary would devote to an old, half- 
effaced mansucript. “ Small type,” he said, very 
slender and clear; the paper is thin and glossy. 
Consequently, these words have not been cut from 
a newspaper, magazine, or even a novel. Yet I 
have seen type like this — I recognize it, I am sure 
Didot often uses it, so does Marne of Tours.” 

He suddenly stopped, his mouth open, and his 
eyes fixed, appealing as though anxiously to his 
memory. Suddenly he struck his forehead exult- 
ingly. ‘‘Now I have it! ” he cried; “ now I have 
it! Why did I not see it at once? These words 
have all been cut from a prayer book. We will 
look, at least, and then we shall be certain.” 

He moistened one of the words pasted on the 
paper with his tongue, and when it was sufficiently 
softened, he detached it with a pin. On the other 
side of this word was the Latin word, Deus. 

“ Ah, ah! ” he exclaimed with a little laugh of 
satisfaction, “ I knew it. Old Tabaret would be 
pleased to see this. But what has become of the 
mutilated prayer book? Can it have been burned? 
No, because a heavy-bound book is not easily 
burned. It has been thrown aside in some corner.” 

He was here interrupted by the concierge, who 
returned with the commissionaire from the Rue 
Pigalle. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 281 

‘‘Ah, here you are,’^ said M. Verduret, encour¬ 
agingly. Then he showed him the envelope of the 
letter, and asked: “ Do you remember bringing this 
letter here this morning? ” 

“ Perfectly, sir. I took particular notice of the 
direction; we don’t often see anything like it.” 

“ Who told you to bring it? — a gentleman, or 
a lady? ” 

“ Neither, sir; it was a commissionaire.” 

This reply made the concierge laugh very much, 
but not a muscle of M. Verduret’s face moved. 

“ A commissionaire? Well, do you know this 
colleague of yours? ” 

“ I never saw him before.” 

“ What was he like? ” 

“ He was neither tall nor short; he wore a green 
velvet jacket, and his badge.” 

“ Your description is so vague that it would suit 
every commissionaire in the city; but did your 
colleague tell you who sent the letter? ” 

“ No, sir. He simply put ten sous in my hand,^ 
and said: ‘ Here, carry this to No. 39 Rue Chaptal; 
a cabman on the boulevard handed it to me.’ Ten 
sous! I warrant you he made more than that by 
it.” 

This answer seemed to disconcert M. Verduret. 
The taking of so many precautions to send this, 
letter disturbed him and upset all his plans. 


282 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ Do you think you would recognize the com¬ 
missionaire again? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir, if I saw him.” 

How much do you gain a day as a commis¬ 
sionaire? ” 

I can’t exactly tell; but mine is a good comer, 
and I am busy going errands nearly all day. I 
suppose I make from eight to ten francs.” 

“ Very well; I will give you ten francs a day if 
you will walk about the streets, and look for the 
commissionaire who gave you this letter. Every 
evening, at eight o’clock, come to the Grand Arch¬ 
angel, on the Quai Saint Michel, to give me a re¬ 
port of your search and receive your pay. Ask for 
M. Verduret. If you find the man I will give you 
fifty francs. Do you agree? ” 

I should rather think I do.” 

“ Then don’t lose a minute. Start off! ” 

Although ignorant of M. Verduret’s plans. Pros¬ 
per began to comprehend the sense of his investiga¬ 
tions. His fate depended upon their success, and 
yet he almost forgot this fact in his admiration of 
this singular man; for his energy, his bantering 
coolness when he wished to discover anything, the 
certainty of his deductions, the fertility of his 
expedients, and the rapidity of his movements, 
were astonishing. 

Do you still think, sir,” said Prosper when the 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 283 

man had left the room, “ you see a woman^s hand 
in this affair? 

“ More than ever; and a pious woman too, who 
has at least two prayer books, since she could cut 
up one to write to you.” 

And you hope to find the mutilated book? ” 

“I do, thanks to the opportunity I have of 
making an immediate search; which I will set 
about at once.” 

Saying this, he sat down, and rapidly scratched 
off a few lines on a slip of paper, which he folded 
up, and put in his waistcoat pocket. Are you 
ready to go to M. Fauvel’s? ” he then asked. 
“Yes? Come on, then; we have certainly earned 
our lunch to-day.” 

When Raoul de Lagors spoke of M. FauveFs ex¬ 
traordinary dejection, he had been guilty of no 
exaggeration. Since the fatal day when, upon his 
denunciation, his cashier had been arrested, the 
banker, this active, energetic man of business, had 
been a prey to the most gloomy melancholy, and 
ceased to take any interest in the affairs of his 
banking house. 

He, who had always been so devoted to his 
family, never came near them except at meals, 
when as soon as he had swallowed a few mouthfuls, 


284 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

he would hastily leave the room. Shut up in his 
study, he would deny himself to visitors. His 
anxious countenance, his indifference to everybody 
and everything, his constant reveries and fits of 
abstraction, betrayed the presence of some fixed 
idea or of some hidden sorrow. 

The day of Prosper’s release, about three o’clock, 
M. Fauvel was, as usual, seated in his study, with 
his elbows resting on the table, and his face buried 
in his hands, when his valet abruptly entered, and 
with a frightened look said: 

M. Bertomy, the former cashier, is here, sir, 
with one of his relatives; he says he must see you.” 

At these words the banker jumped up as if he 
had been shot at. “ Prosper! ” he cried in a voice 
choked by anger, ‘^what! does he dare — ” Then 
remembering that he ought to control himself be¬ 
fore his servant, he waited a few moments, and 
said, in a tone of forced calmness: ‘‘ Ask the gentle¬ 
men to walk in.” 

If M. Verduret had counted upon witnessing a 
strange and affecting scene, he was not disap¬ 
pointed. Nothing could be more terrible than the 
attitude of these two men as they stood confront¬ 
ing each other. The banker’s face was almost 
purple with suppressed anger, and he looked as 
if he were about to be seized with a fit of apoplexy. 
Prosper was pale and motionless as a corpse. 


MONSIEUR LECOQy — MASTER-MIND 285 

Silent and immovable, they stood glaring at each 
other with mortal hatred. 

M. Verduret watched these two enemies with 
the indifference and coolness of a philosopher, who, 
in the most violent outbursts of human passion, 
merely sees subjects for meditation and study. 
Finally, the silence becoming more and more 
threatening, he decided to break it by speaking to 
the banker: 

“ I suppose you know, sir,’’ said he, “ that my 
young relative has just been released from prison.” 

Yes,” replied M. Fauvel making an effort to 
control himself, “ yes, for want of sufficient proof.” 

“ Exactly so, sir; and this want of proof, as 
stated in the decision of ^ Not proven,’ ruins the 
prospects of my relative, and compels him to leave 
here at once for America.” 

On hearing this statement, M. Fauvel’s features 
relaxed as if he had been relieved of some fearful 
agony. “ Ah, he is going away,” he kept repeating, 
he is going abroad.” There was no mistaking 
the insulting intonation of the words, ‘‘going 
away! ” 

M. Verduret took no notice of M. Fauvel’s 
manner. “ It appears to me,” he continued in an 
easy tone, “ that Prosper’s determination is a wise 
one. I merely wished him, before leaving Paris, to 
come and pay his respects to his former chief.” 


286 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

The banker smiled bitterly. “ M. Bertomy 
might have spared us both this painful meeting. 
I have nothing to say to him, and of course he can 
have nothing to tell me.’’ 

This was a formal dismissal; and M. Verduret, 
understanding it thus, bowed to M. Fauvel and 
left the room accompanied by Prosper, who had 
not opened his lips. 

They had reached the street before Prosper re¬ 
covered the use of his tongue. “ I hope you are 
satisfied, sir,” said he in a gloomy tone. “ You 
exacted this painful step, and I could but acquiesce. 
Have I gained anything by adding this humiliation 
to the others which I have had to suffer? ” 

“ You have not, but I have,” replied M. Ver¬ 
duret. “ I could find no way of gaining access to 
M. Fauvel, save through you; and now I have 
found out what I wanted to know. I am con¬ 
vinced that M. Fauvel had nothing to do with the 
robbery.” 

“ But you know, sir, innocence can be feigned,” 
objected Prosper. 

Certainly, but not to this extent. And this is 
not all. I wished to find out if M. Fauvel would 
be accessible to certain suspicions. I can now 
confidently reply, ‘ yes.’ ” 

Prosper and his companion had stopped to talk 
more at their ease, near the comer of Rue Lafitte, 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 287 

in the middle of a large space which had lately 
been cleared by pulling down an old house, M. 
Verduret seemed to be anxious, and was constantly 
looking around as if he expected some one. He 
soon uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. At 
the other end of the vacant space he saw Cavail- 
lon,® who was bareheaded and running. 

The latter was so excited that he did not even 
stop to shake hands with Prosper, but darted up to 
M. Verduret, and said: They have gone, sir! ” 
How long since? ’’ 

They went about a quarter of an hour ago.” 
The deuce they did! Then we have not an 
instant to lose.” 

He handed Cavaillon the note he had written 
some hours before at Prosper’s house. 

“ Here, pass this on, and then return at once 
to your desk; you might be missed. It was very 
imprudent of you to come out without your hat.” 

Cavaillon ran off as quickly as he had come. 
Prosper was astounded. “ What! ” he exclaimed. 

You know Cavaillon? ” 

“ So it seems,” answered M. Verduret with a 
smile. “ But we have no time to talk; come on, 
we must hurry! ” 

“ Where are we going now? ” 

You will soon know; let us walk fast! ” And 
® A clerk in M, Fauvel’s bank. 


288 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

he set the example by striding rapidly towards the 
Rue Lafayette. As they went along he continued 
talking more to himself than to Prosper. 

Ah/^ said he, “ it is not by putting both feet 
in one shoe that one wins a race. The trace once 
found, we should never rest an instant. When 
the savage discovers the footprints of an enemy, he 
follows it persistently, knowing that falling rain 
or a gust of wind may efface the footprints at 
any moment. It is the same with us; the most 
trifling incident may destroy the traces we are 
following up.” 

M. Verduret suddenly stopped before a door 
bearing the number 8i. ‘‘We are going in here,” 
he said to Prosper; “come along.” 

They went upstairs, and stopped on the second 
floor before a door over which was inscribed, 
“ Modes and Confections.” A handsome bell-rope 
was hanging against the wall, but M. Verduret did 
not touch it. He tapped with the ends of his 
fingers in a peculiar way, and the door instantly 
opened, as if some one had been watching for his 
signal on the other side. 

A neatly dressed woman of about forty received 
Verduret and Prosper, and quietly ushered them 
into a small dining-room with several doors open¬ 
ing into it. This woman bowed respectfully to M. 
Verduret, as if he were some superior being. He 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 289 

scarcely noticed her salutation, but questioned her 
with a look, which asked: “ Well? ” 

She nodded affirmatively: “ Yes.” 

“ In there? ” asked M. Verduret in low tone, 
pointing to one of the doors. 

“No,” replied the woman in the same tone; 
“ there, in the little parlor.” 

M. Verduret opened the door of the room indi¬ 
cated, and pushed Prosper forward, whispering as 
he did so, “ Go in, and keep your presence of 
mind.” 

But this injunction was useless. The instant he 
cast his eyes around the room into which he had 
so unceremoniously been pushed without any warn¬ 
ing, Prosper exclaimed in a startled voice: “ Made¬ 
leine! ” 

It was indeed M. FauvePs niece, looking more 
beautiful than ever. Hers was that calm, dignified 
beauty which imposes admiration and respect. 
Standing in the middle of the room, near a table 
covered with silks and satins, she was arranging 
a skirt of red velvet embroidered in gold, prob¬ 
ably the dress she was to wear as maid of honor 
to Catherine de Medicis. At sight of Prosper, all 
the blood rushed to her face, and her beautiful 
eyes half closed, as if she were about to faint; she 
clung to the table to prevent herself from falling. 

Prosper well knew that Madeleine was not one 


290 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

of those cold-hearted women whom nothing could 
disturb, and who feel sensations, but never a true 
sentiment. Of a tender, dreamy nature, she be¬ 
trayed in the minute details of her life the most 
exquisite delicacy. But she was also proud, and 
incapable in any way of violating her conscience. 
When duty spoke, she obeyed. 

She recovered from her momentary weakness, 
and the soft expression of her eyes changed to one 
of haughty resentment. In an offended tone she 
said: “What has emboldened you, sir, to be 
watching my movements? Who gave you permis¬ 
sion to follow me — to enter this house? ” 

Prosper was certainly innocent. He longed with 
a word to explain what had just happened, but 
he was powerless to do so, and could only remain 
silent. 

“ You promised me upon your honor, sir,” con¬ 
tinued Madeleine, “ that you would never again 
seek my presence. Is this the way you keep your 
word? ” 

“ I did promise, mademoiselle, but — ” He 
stopped. 

“ Oh, speak! ” 

“ So many things have happened since that ter¬ 
rible day that I think I am excusable in forgetting 
for one hour an oath torn from me in a moment 
of blind weakness. It is to chance, at least to 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 2gi 

another will than my own, that I am indebted 
for the happiness of once more finding myself near 
you. Alas! the instant I saw you my heart 
bounded with joy. I did not think — no, I could 
not think — that you would prove more pitiless 
than strangers have been, that you would cast me 
off when I am so miserable and heartbroken.” 

Had not Prosper been so agitated he could have 
read in Madeleine’s eyes — those beautiful eyes 
which had so long been the arbiters of his destiny 
— the signs of a great inward struggle. 

It was, however, in a firm voice that she replied: 
‘‘ You know me well enough. Prosper, to be sure 
that no blow can strike you without reaching me 
at the same time. You suffer, I suffer with you; 
I pity you as a sister would pity a beloved 
brother.” 

“A sister! ” said Prosper bitterly. “Yes, that 
was the word you used the day you banished me 
from your presence. A sister! Then why during 
three years did you delude me with vain hopes? 
Was I a brother to you the day we went to Notre 
Dame de Fourvieres — that day when, at the foot 
of the altar, we swore to love each other forever 
and ever, and you fastened around my neck a holy 
relic and said, ‘Wear this always for my sake; 
never part from it, and it will bring you good 
fortune? ’ ” 


292 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Prosper, my brother, my friend, if you only 
knew — ” 

“ I know but one thing, Madeleine, which is, 
that you no longer love me, and that I will not 
live without you. O Madeleine, God only knows 
how I love you! ” 

He was silent. He hoped for an answer. None 
came. But suddenly the silence was broken by a 
stifled sob. It was Madeleine’s maid, who, seated 
in a corner was weeping bitterly. Madeleine had 
forgotten her presence. 

Prosper, on entering the room, was so amazed 
on finding himself in the presence of Madeleine, 
that he noticed nothing else. With a feeling of 
surprise, he turned and looked at the weeping 
woman. He was not mistaken; this neatly dressed 
waiting-maid was Nina Gipsy. 

Prosper was so startled that he became perfectly 
dumb. He stood there with ashy lips, and a chilly 
sensation creeping through his veins. He was ter¬ 
rified at the position in which he found himself. 
He was there, between the two women who had 
ruled his fate; between Madeleine, the proud heir¬ 
ess who spumed his love, and Nina Gipsy, the 
poor girl whose devotion to him he had so dis¬ 
dainfully rejected. And she had heard all! Poor 
Nina had heard the passionate avowal of her lover, 
had heard him swear that he could never love 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 293 

any woman but Madeleine, that if his love were 
not reciprocated he would kill himself, as he had 
nothing else to live for. 

Prosper could judge of her sufferings by his 
own. For she was wounded not only in the 
present, but in the past. What must be her humili¬ 
ation and anger on hearing the miserable part 
which he, in his disappointed love, had imposed 
upon her? He was astonished that Nina — vio¬ 
lence itself — remained silently weeping, instead 
of rising and bitterly denouncing him. 

Meanwhile Madeleine had succeeded in recover¬ 
ing her usual calmness. Slowly and almost un¬ 
consciously she had put on her bonnet and mantle, 
which were lying on the sofa. Then she ap¬ 
proached Prosper, and said: “Why did you come 
here? We both have need of all the courage we 
can command. You are unhappy. Prosper; I am 
more than unhappy, I am most wretched. You 
have a right to complain; I have not the right to 
shed a tear. While my heart is slowly breaking, I 
must wear a smiling face. You can seek consola¬ 
tion in the bosom of a friend; I can have no con¬ 
fidante but God.’^ 

Prosper tried to murmur a reply, but his pale 
lips refused to articulate; he was stifling. “ I wish 
to tell you,” continued Madeleine, “ that I have 
forgotten nothing! But oh! let not this knowledge 


294 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

give you any hope; the future is blank for us; 
but if you love me you will live. You will not, I 
know, add to my already heavy burden of sorrow 
the agony of mourning your death. For my sake, 
live; live the life of a good man, and perhaps the 
day will come when I can justify myself in your 
eyes. And now, O my brother, O my only friend, 
adieu! adieu! ” She pressed a kiss upon his brow, 
and rushed from the room, followed by Nina 
Gipsy! 

Prosper was alone. He seemed to be awaking 
from a troubled dream. He tried to think over 
what had just happened, and asked himself if he 
were losing his mind, or whether he had really 
spoken to Madeleine and seen Nina? He was 
obliged to attribute all this to the mysterious 
power of the strange man whom he had seen for 
the first time that very morning. How did this 
individual gain this wonderful power of controlling 
events to suit his own purposes? He seemed to 
anticipate everything, to know everything. He 
was acquainted with Cavaillon, he knew all Made¬ 
leine’s movements; he had made even Nina be¬ 
come humble and submissive. 

While thinking over this, Prosper had reached 
such a degree of exasperation, that when M. Ver- 
duret entered the little parlor, he strode towards 
him white with rage, and in a threatening voice, 
exclaimed: 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 295 

“Who are you?’’ 

The stout man did not manifest any surprise at 
this burst of anger, but quietly answered: “ A 
friend of your father’s; did you not know it? ” 

“ That, sir, is no answer; I have been surprised 
into being influenced by a stranger, but now — ” 

“ Do you want my biography — what I have 
been, what I am, and what I may be? What dif¬ 
ference does it make to you? I told you that I 
would save you; the main point is that I am saving 
you.” 

“ Still I have the right to ask by what means you 
are saving me.” 

“ What good will it do you to know what my 
plans are? ” 

“ In order to decide whether I will accept or re¬ 
ject them.” 

“ But suppose I guarantee success? ” 

“ That is not sufficient. I do not choose to be 
any longer deprived of my own free will — to be 
exposed, without warning, to trials like those I 
have undergone to-day. A man of my age must 
know what he is doing.” 

“ A man of your age. Prosper, when he is blind, 
takes a guide, and does not undertake to point out 
the way to his leader.” 

The half-bantering, half-commiserating tone of 
M. Verduret was not calculated to calm Prosper’s 
irritation. 


296 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ That being the case, sir,” he exclaimed, “ T 
will thank you for your past services, and decline 
them for the future, as I have no need of them. 
If I attempted to defend my honor and my life, 
it was because I hoped that Madeleine would be 
restored to me. I have been convinced to-day that 
all is at an end between us; I retire from the 
struggle, and care not what becomes of me now.” 

Prosper was so decided, that M. Verduret 
seemed alarmed. You must be mad,” he firmly 
said. 

“ No, unfortunately I am not. Madeleine has 
ceased to love me, and of what importance is 
anything else? ” 

His heartbroken tone aroused M. Verduret’s 
sympathy, and he said in a kind, soothing voice 
— “ Then you suspect nothing? You did not 
fathom the meaning of what she said? ” 

“ You were listening? ” cried Prosper fiercely. 

I certainly was.” 

“ Sir! ” 

“ Yes. It was a presumptuous thing to do, per¬ 
haps; but the end justified the means in this 
instance. I am glad I did listen, because it enables 
me to say to you: Take courage. Prosper, Made¬ 
moiselle Madeleine loves you — she has never 
ceased to love you.” 

Like a dying person who eagerly listens to de¬ 
ceitful promises of recovery, although he feels him- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 297 

self sinking into the grave, Prosper felt his sad 
heart cheered by M. Verduret’s assertion. “ Oh,” 
he murmured, suddenly calmed, “ if I only could 
hope! ” 

“ Rely upon me, I am not mistaken. Ah, I could 
see the torture endured by this generous girl, while 
she struggled between her love and what she be¬ 
lieved to be her duty. Were not you convinced 
of her love when she bade you farewell? ” 

“ She loves me, she is free, and yet she shuns 
me.” 

“No, she is not free! In breaking off her en¬ 
gagement with you, she was governed by some 
powerful, irrepressible event. She is sacrificing 
herself — for whom? We shall soon know; and 
the secret of her self-sacrifice will reveal to us the 
secret of the plot against you.” 

As M. Verduret spoke. Prosper felt his resolu¬ 
tions of revolt slowly melting away, and their place 
occupied by confidence and hope. “ If what you 
say were only true! ” he mournfully said. 

“ Foolish young man! Why do you persist in 
obstinately shutting your eyes to the proof I 
place before you? Can you not see that Made¬ 
moiselle Madeleine knows who the thief is? Yes, 
you need not look so shocked; she knows the thief, 
but no human power can tear it from her. She 
sacrifices you, but then she almost has the right, 
since she first sacrificed herself.” 


298 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Prosper was almost convinced; and it nearly 
broke his heart to leave the little apartment where 
he had seen Madeleine. “ Alas! he said, pressing 
M. VerdurePs hand, “ you must think me a ridicu¬ 
lous fool! but you don’t know how I suffer.” 

The man with the red whiskers sadly shook his 
head, and his voice sounded very unsteady, as he 
replied in a low tone: “What you suffer, I have 
suffered. Like you, I loved, not a pure, noble girl, 
yet a girl fair to look upon. For three years I was 
at her feet, a slave to her every whim, when, one 
day, she suddenly deserted me who adored her, to 
throw herself into the arms of a man who despised 
her. Then, like you, I wished to die. Neither 
threats nor entreaties could induce her to return 
to me. Passion never reasons, and she loved my 
rival.” 

“ And did you know who this rival was? ” 

“ Yes, I knew.” 

“ And you did not seek revenge? ” 

“ No,” replied M. Verduret. And with a singu¬ 
lar expression he added: “ For fate charged itself 
with my vengeance.” 

For a minute Prosper was silent; then he said: 
“ I have finally decided. My honor is a sacred 
trust for which I must account to my family. I 
am ready to follow you to the end of the world; 
dispose of me as you judge proper.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 299 

That same day Prosper, faithful to his promise, 
sold his furniture, and wrote to his friends an¬ 
nouncing his intended departure for San Francisco. 
In the evening he and M. Verduret installed them¬ 
selves at the hotel of the Grand Archangel. 

Madame Alexandre gave Prosper her prettiest 
room, but it was very ugly compared with the 
coquettish little drawing-room in the Rue Chaptal. 
His state of mind did not permit him, however, to 
notice the difference between his former and 
present quarters. He lay on an old sofa, medi¬ 
tating upon the events of the day, and feeling a 
bitter satisfaction in his isolated condition. About 
eleven o’clock he thought he would open the win¬ 
dow, and let the cool air fan his burning brow; as 
he did so, a piece of paper was blown from among 
the folds of the window curtain and lay at his feet 
on the floor. 

Prosper mechanically picked it up, and looked 
at it. It was covered with writing, the handwrit¬ 
ing of Nina Gipsy; he could not be mistaken about 
that. It was the fragment of a torn letter; and if 
the half sentences did not convey any clear mean¬ 
ing, they were sufficient to lead the mind into all 
sorts of conjectures. 

The fragment read as follows: 

“ of M. Raoul, I have been very im . . . plotted 
against him, of whom never . . . warn Prosper, 


300 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


and then . . . best friend, he . . . hand of Made¬ 
moiselle Ma . . 

Prosper never closed his eyes all that night. 

During the twenty years of her married life, 
Valentine^ had experienced but one real sorrow; 
and this was one which, in the course of nature, 
must happen sooner or later. In 1859 her mother 
died from inflammation of the lungs, during one 
of her frequent journeys to Paris. The countess 
preserved her faculties to the last, and with her 
dying breath said to her daughter: “Ah, well! 
was I not right in prevailing upon you to bury 
the past? Your silence has made my old age peace¬ 
ful and happy, for which I now thank you, and it 
assures you a quiet future.” 

Madame Fauvel constantly said that, since the 
loss of her mother, she had never had cause to shed 
a tear. And what more could she wish for? As 
years rolled on, Andre’s love remained the same as 
it had been during the first days of their union. To 
the love that had not diminished was added that 
sweet intimacy which results from long conformity 
of ideas and unbounded confidence. Everything 
prospered with this happy couple. Andre was far 
more wealthy than he had ever hoped to be, even 
in his wildest visions; more so even than he or Val- 


7 Mme. Fauvel. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 301 

entine desired. Their two sons, Lucian and Abel, 
were beautiful as their mother, noble-hearted and 
intelligent young men, whose honorable characters 
and graceful bearing were the glory of their family. 
Nothing was wanting to insure Valentine’s felicity. 
When her husband and her sons were absent, her 
solitude was cheered by the companionship of an 
accomplished young girl whom she loved as her 
own daughter, and who in return filled the place of 
a devoted child. Madeleine was M. FauveFs niece, 
who, when an infant, had lost both parents, poor 
but very worthy people. Valentine adopted the 
babe, perhaps in memory of the poor little creature 
who had been abandoned to strangers. It seemed 
to her that God would bless her for this good ac¬ 
tion, and that Madeleine would be the guardian 
angel of the house. The day of the little orphan’s 
arrival, M. Fauvel invested for her ten thousand 
francs, which he presented to Madeleine as her 
dowry. The banker amused himself by increasing 
these ten thousand francs in the most marvellous 
ways. He, who never ventured upon a rash specu¬ 
lation with his own money, always invested his 
niece’s in the most hazardous schemes, and was 
always so successful that, at the end of fifteen 
years, the ten thousand francs had become half 
a million. People were right when they said that 
the Fauvel family were to be envied. Time had 


302 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


dulled Valentine’s remorse and anxiety. In the 
genial atmosphere of a happy home, she had almost 
found forgetfulness and a peaceful conscience. She 
had suffered so much at being compelled to deceive 
Andre ® that she hoped she was now at quits with 
fate. She began to look forward to the future, and 
her youth seemed but buried in an impenetrable 
mist, the memory of a painful dream. 

Yes, she believed herself saved, when, one rainy 
day in November, during an absence of her hus¬ 
band, who had gone into the provinces on business, 
one of the servants brought her a letter, which had 
been left by a stranger, who refused to give his 
name. Without the faintest presentiment of evil, 
she carelessly broke the seal, and read: 

“ Madame — Would it be relying too much upon 
the memories of the past to hope for half an hour 
of your time? To-morrow, between two and three, 
I will do myself the honor of calling upon you. — 
Marquis de Clameran.” 

Fortunately, Madame Fauvel was alone. Trem¬ 
bling like a leaf, she read the letter over and over 
again, as if to convince herself that she was not- 
the victim of a horrible hallucination. Half a 
dozen times, with a sort of terror, she whispered 
that name once so dear — Clameran! spelling it 

* A previous love affair with Gaston de Clameran. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 303 

aloud as if it were a strange name which she could 
not pronounce. And the eight letters forming the 
name seemed to shine like the lightning which pre¬ 
cedes the thunderbolt. Ah! she had hoped and 
believed that the fatal past was atoned for, and 
buried in oblivion; and now it suddenly stood 
before her, pitiless and threatening. Poor woman! 
as if all human will could prevent what was fated 
to be! It was in this hour of security, when she 
imagined herself pardoned, that the storm was to 
burst upon the fragile edifice of her happiness, and 
destroy her every hope. A long time passed before 
she could collect her scattered thoughts sufficiently 
to reflect upon a course of action. Then she began 
to think she was foolish to be so frightened. This 
letter was written by Gaston, of course, therefore 
she need feel no apprehension. Gaston had re¬ 
turned to France, and wished to see her. She could 
understand this desire, and she knew too well this 
man, upon whom she had lavished her young affec¬ 
tions, to attribute any bad motives to his visit. He 
would come; and finding her the wife of another, 
the mother of a family, they would exchange 
thoughts of the past, perhaps a few regrets; she 
would restore the jewels which she had faithfully 
kept for him, and — that would be all. But one 
distressing doubt beset her agitated mind. Should 
she conceal from Gaston the birth of his son? To 


304 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


confess was to expose herself to many dangers. It 
was placing herself at the mercy of a man — a 
loyal, honorable man, to be sure — confiding to 
him not only her own honor and happiness, but the 
honor of her husband and her sons. Still, silence 
would be a crime. After abandoning her child, and 
depriving him of a mother’s care and affection, she 
would rob him of his father’s name and fortune. 

She was still undecided, when the servant an¬ 
nounced dinner. But she had not the courage to 
meet the glances of her sons. She sent word that 
she was not well, and would not be down to dinner. 
For the first time in her life she rejoiced at her 
husband’s absence. Madeleine came hurrying into 
her aunt’s room to see what was the matter; but 
Valentine dismissed her saying she would try to 
sleep off her indisposition. She wished to be alone 
in her trouble and her mind tried to imagine what 
the morrow would bring forth. This dreaded mor¬ 
row soon came. She counted the hours until 
two o’clock; then she counted the minutes. At 
half-past two the servants announced: “ Monsieur 
the Marquis de Clameran.” 

Madame Fauvel had promised herself to be calm, 
even cold. During a long, sleepless night, she had 
mentally arranged beforehand every detail of this 
painful meeting. She had even decided upon what 
she should say. She would reply this, and ask that. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 305 

But, at the dreaded moment, her strength gave 
way; a frightful emotion fixed her to her seat; she 
could neither speak nor think. He, however, bowed 
respectfully, and remained waiting in the middle of 
the room. He appeared about fifty years of age, 
with iron-gray hair and mustache, and a cold, 
severe cast of countenance; his expression was 
one of haughty severity as he stood there in his 
full suit of black. The agitated woman tried to 
discover in his face some traces of the man whom 
she had so madly loved, who had pressed her to 
his heart — the father of her son; and she was 
surprised to find in the person before her no re¬ 
semblance to the youth whose memory had haunted 
her life — no, nothing. At length, as he continued 
to remain motionless, she faintly murmured: 
‘‘ Gaston! ” 

But he, shaking his head, replied: “I am not 
Gaston, madame; my brother succumbed to the 
misery and suffering of exile. I am Louis de 
Clameran.” 

What! it was not Gaston, then, who had written 
to her — it was not Gaston who stood before her? 
She trembled with terror; her head whirled, and 
her eyes grew dim. It was not he! And her voice 
alone, when she called him “ Gaston,” betrayed 
her. What, then, could this man want — this 
brother in whom Gaston had never cared to con- 


3o6 great detective STORIES 

fide? A thousand probabilities, each one more 
terrible than the other, flashed across her brain. 
Yet she succeeded in overcoming her weakness, so 
that Louis scarcely perceived it. The fearful 
strangeness of her situation, the very imminence 
of her peril, inspired her mind with extraordinary 
lucidness. 

Pointing to a chair, she said to Louis with 
affected indifference: “Will you be kind enough, 
then sir, to explain the object of this most unex¬ 
pected visit?” 

The marquis, seeming not to notice this sudden 
change of manner, took a seat without removing 
his eyes from Madame FauvePs face. “ First of 
all, madame,” he began, “ I must ask if we can 
be overheard by anyone? ” 

“ Why this question? You can have nothing to 
say to me that my husband and children should not 
hear.” 

Louis shrugged his shoulders, and said: “ Be 
good enough to answer me, madame; not for my 
sake, but for your own.” 

“ Speak, then, sir, you will not be heard.” 

In spite of this assurance, the marquis drew his 
chair close to the sofa where Madame Fauvel sat, 
so as to speak in a very low tone, as if almost 
afraid to hear his own voice. “ As I told you, 
madame,” he resumed, “ Gaston is dead; and it 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 307 

was I who closed his eyes, and received his last 
wishes. Do you understand? 

The poor woman understood only too well, but 
racking her brain to discover what could be the 
purpose of this fatal visit. Perhaps it was only to 
claim Gaston^s jewels. 

“ It is unnecessary to recall,” continued Louis, 
‘‘ the painful circumstances which blasted my 
brother's life. However happy your own lot has 
been, you cannot entirely have forgotten that friend 
of your youth who, unhesitatingly, sacrificed him¬ 
self in defense of your honor.” 

Not a muscle of Madame Fauvel’s face moved; 
she appeared to be trying to recall the circum¬ 
stances to which Louis alluded. 

“ Have you forgotten, madame? ” he asked with 
bitterness. “ Then I must try and explain myself 
more clearly. A long, long time ago you loved my 
unfortunate brother.” 

. “ Sir! ” 

“ Ah, it is useless to deny it, madame. I told 
you that Gaston confided everything to me — 
everything,” he added significantly. 

But Madame Fauvel was not frightened by this 
information. This “ everything ” could not be of 
any importance, for Gaston had gone abroad in 
total ignorance of her secret. She rose, and said 
with an apparent assurance she was far from feel- 


308 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

ing: “ You forget, sir, that you are speaking to 
a woman who is now advanced in life, who is 
married, and who is the mother of a family. If 
your brother loved me, it was his affair, and not 
yours. If, young and ignorant, I was led into 
imprudence, it is not your place to remind me of 
it. He would not have done so. This past which 
you evoke I buried in oblivion twenty years ago.” 
“ Then you have forgotten all that happened? ” 
“ Absolutely all.” 

Even your child, madame? ” 

This question, accompanied by one of those 
looks which penetrate the innermost recesses of the 
soul, fell upon Madame Fauvel like a thunder-bolt. 
She dropped tremblingly into her seat, murmuring: 
“ He knows! How did he discover it? ” Had her 
own happiness alone been at stake, she would have 
instantly thrown herself upon De Clameran’s mercy. 
But she had her family to defend, and the con¬ 
sciousness of this gave her strength to resist him. 
“ Do you wish to insult me, sir? ” she asked. 

“ It is true, then, you have forgotten Valentin- 
Raoul? ” 

She saw that this man did indeed know all. 
How? It little mattered. He certainly knew; but 
she determined to deny everything, even in the 
face of the mpst positive proofs, if he should pro¬ 
duce them. For an instant she had an idea of 
ordering the Marquis De Clameran to leave the 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 309 

house; but prudence stayed her. She thought it 
best to find out what he was driving at. “ Well,” 
she asked, with a forced laugh, “ what is it you 
want? ” 

“ Listen, madame. Two years ago the vicissi¬ 
tudes of exile took my brother to London. There, 
at the house of a friend, he met a young man bear¬ 
ing the name of Raoul. Gaston was so struck 
by the youth’s appearance and intelligence, that 
he inquired who he was, and discovered that be¬ 
yond a doubt this boy was his son, and your son, 
madame.” 

“ This is quite a romance you are relating.” 

“ Yes, madame, a romance, the denouement of 
which is in your hands. The countess, your 
mother, certainly used every precaution to con¬ 
ceal your secret; but the best-laid plans always 
have some weak point. After your departure, one 
of your mother’s London friends came to the village 
where you had been staying. This lady pronounced 
your real name before the farmer’s wife who was 
bringing up the child. Thus everything was re¬ 
vealed. My brother wished for proofs, he pro¬ 
cured the most positive, the most unobjectionable.” 

He stopped and watched Madame Fauvel’s face 
to see the effect of his words. To his astonishment 
she betrayed not the slightest agitation or alarm; 
she was smiling. 

“Well, what next? ” she asked carelessly. 


310 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Then, madame, Gaston acknowledged the child. 
But the De Clamerans are poor; my brother died 
in a lodging house; and I have only an annuity of 
twelve hundred francs to live upon. What is to 
become of Raoul, alone without relations or 
friends to assist him? This anxiety embittered 
my brother’s last moments.” 

“Really, sir—” 

“ I will conclude,” interrupted Louis. “ It was 
then that Gaston opened his heart to me. He told 
me to seek you. ‘ Valentine,’ said he, • Valentine 
will remember; she will not allow our son to want 
for everything, even bread; she is wealthy, very 
wealthy; I die in peace.’ ” 

Madame Fauvel rose from her seat, evidently 
with the intention of dismissing her visitor. “You 
must confess, sir,” she said, “ that I have shown 
great patience.” 

This imperturbable assurance amazed Louis so 
much that he did not reply. 

“ I do not deny,” she continued, “ that I at 
one time possessed the confidence of M. Gaston de 
Clameran. I will prove it to you by restoring to 
you your mother’s jewels, with which he entrusted 
me at the time of his departure.” WHiile speaking 
she took from beneath the sofa cushion the bag of 
jewels, and handed it to Louis. “ Here they are, 
sir,” she added; “ permit me to express my sur- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 311 

prise that your brother never asked me for them.” 

Had he been less master of himself, Louis would 
have shown how great was his surprise. I was 
told,” he said sharply, “ not to mention this 
matter.” 

Madame Fauvel, without making any reply, 
laid her hand on the bell rope. “ You will allow 
me, sir,” she said, “ to end this interview, which 
was only granted for the purpose of placing in 
your hands these precious jewels.” 

Thus dismissed, M. de Clameran was obliged to 
take his leave without attaining his object. “ As 
you will, madame,” he said; “ I leave you; but be¬ 
fore doing so I must tell you the rest of my 
brother's dying injunctions: ‘ If Valentine disre¬ 
gards the past, and refuses to provide for our son, I 
enjoin it upon you to compel her to do her duty.’ 
Meditate upon these words, madame, for what I 
have sworn to do, upon my honor, shall be done! ” 

At last Madame Fauvel was alone. She could 
give vent to her despair. Exhausted by her efforts 
at self-restraint during De Clameran’s presence, 
she felt weary and crushed in body and spirit. She 
had scarcely strength to drag herself up to her 
bedchamber, and to lock the door. Now there was 
no room for doubt; her fears had become realities. 
She could fathom the abyss into which she was 
about to be hurled, and knew that in her fall she 


312 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


would drag her family with her. God alone, in 
this hour of danger, could help her, could save 
her from destruction. She prayed. “ O God,” 
she cried, “punish me, for I am very guilty, and 
I will evermore adore Thy chastising hand. Punish 
me, for I have been a bad daughter, an unworthy 
mother, and a perfidious wife. Smite me, O God, 
and only me! In Thy just anger spare the inno¬ 
cent; have pity on my husband and my children! ” 
What were her twenty years of happiness compared 
to this hour of misery? A bitter remorse; nothing 
more. Ah, why did she listen to her mother? Why 
did she hold her tongue? Hope had fled forever. 
This man who had left her presence with a threat 
upon his lips would return; she knew it well. 
What answer could she give him? To-day she had 
succeeded in subduing her heart and conscience; 
would she again have the strength to master her 
feelings? She well knew that her calmness and 
courage were entirely due to De Clameran’s un¬ 
skilfulness. Why did he not use entreaties instead 
of threats! When Louis spoke of Raoul, she could 
scarcely conceal her emotion; her maternal heart 
yearned towards the innocent child who was expia¬ 
ting his mother’s faults. A chill of horror passed 
over her at the idea of his enduring the pangs of 
hunger. Her child wanting bread, when she, his 
mother, was rolling in wealth! Ah, why could 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 313 

she not lay all her i>ossessions at his feet? With 
what delight would she undergo the greatest pri¬ 
vations for his sake! If she could but send him 
enough money to support him comfortably! But 
no; she could not take this step without compro¬ 
mising herself and her family. Prudence forbade 
her acceptance of Louis de Clameran’s intervention. 
To confide in him, was placing herself, and all 
she held dear, at his mercy, and this inspired her 
with instinctive terror. Then she began to ask 
herself if he had really spoken the truth. In think¬ 
ing over Louis’ story, it seemed improbable and 
disconnected. If Gaston had been living in Paris, 
in the poverty described by his brother, why had 
he not demanded of the married woman the de¬ 
posit entrusted to the maiden? Why, when anx¬ 
ious about their child’s future, had he not come 
to her, since he believed her to be so rich that, 
on his deathbed, it was she he relied upon? A 
thousand vague apprehensions beset her mind; she 
felt suspicion and distrust of every one and every¬ 
thing. She was aware that a decisive step would 
bind her forever, and then, what would not be ex¬ 
acted of her? For a moment she thought of throw¬ 
ing herself at her husband’s feet and confessing all. 
Unfortunately, she thrust aside this means of sal¬ 
vation. She pictured to herself the mortification 
and sorrow that her noble-hearted husband would 


314 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


suffer upon discovering, after a lapse of twenty- 
years, how shamefully he had been deceived. Hav¬ 
ing been deceived from the very first, would he not 
believe that it had been so ever since? Would he 
believe in her fidelity as a wife, when he discovered 
her perfidy as a young girl? She understood Andre 
well enough to know that he would say nothing, 
and would use every means to conceal the scandal. 
But his domestic happiness would be gone forever. 
He would forsake his home; his sons would 
shun her presence, and every family bond would be 
severed. She thought of ending her doubts by 
suicide; but her death would not silence her im¬ 
placable enemy, who, not able to disgrace her 
while alive, would dishonor her memory. 

A few days later she received a note from Louis 
de Clameran saying he was ill and asking her to 
call on him the next day. The suspense had be¬ 
come unendurable and she decided to go. 

The next day towards the appointed time, she 
dressed herself in the plainest of her black dresses, 
in the bonnet which concealed her face the most, 
placed a thick veil in her pocket, and started forth. 
It was not until she found herself a considerable 
distance from her home that she ventured to hail 
a cab, which soon set her down at the Hotel du 
Louvre. Here her uneasiness increased. Her 
circle of acquaintances being large, she was in 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 315 

terror of being recognized. What would her friends 
think, if they saw her at the Hotel du Louvre 
dressed as she was? Any one would naturally sus¬ 
pect an intrigue, a rendezvous; and her character 
would be ruined forever. This was the first time 
since her marriage that she had had occasion for 
mystery; and, in her inexperience, her efforts 
to escape notice were in every way calculated to 
attract attention. The concierge said that the 
Marquis de Clameran^s room was on the third 
floor. She hurried up the stairs, glad to escape 
the scrutinizing glances which she imagined were 
fixed upon her; but, in spite of the minute direc¬ 
tions given by the concierge, she lost her way in 
the immense hotel, and for a long time wandered 
about the interminable corridors. Finally, she 
found a door bearing the number sought — 317. 
She stood leaning against the wall with her hand 
pressed to her throbbing heart, which seemed 
ready to burst. Now, at the moment of risking this 
decisive step, she felt paralyzed with fright. The 
sight of a stranger traversing the corridor ended 
her hesitations. With a trembling hand she 
knocked at the door. 

“ Come in,” said a voice. 

She entered. But it was not the Marquis de 
Clameran who stood in the middle of the room, it 
was a young man almost a youth, who looked at 


3i6 great detective STORIES 

her with a singular expression. Madame Fauvel 
thought that she had mistaken the room. “ Excuse 
me, sir,” she said, blushing deeply; I thought 
that this was the Marquis de Clameran’s room.” 

“ It is his room, madame,” replied the young 
man; then seeing she was silent, and about to leave, 
he added: I presume I have the honor of ad¬ 
dressing Madame Fauvel? ” 

She nodded affirmatively, shuddering at the 
sound of her own name, and frightened at this 
proof of De Clameran^s betrayal of her secret to 
a stranger. With visible anxiety she awaited an 
explanation. 

Fear nothing, madame,” resumed the young 
man; ^^you are as safe here as if you were in 
your own drawing-room. M. de Clameran desired 
me to make his excuses; you will not see him.” 

But, sir, from an urgent letter sent by him 
yesterday, I was led to suppose — I inferred — ” 

When he wrote to you, madame, he had proj¬ 
ects in view which he has since renounced forever.” 

Madame Fauvel was too surprised, too agitated 
to think clearly. Beyond the present she could see 
nothing. Do you mean,” she asked with dis¬ 
trust, “ that he has changed his intentions? ” 

The young man’s face was expressive of sad com¬ 
passion, as if he shared the unhappy woman’s suf¬ 
ferings. “ The marquis has renounced,” he said 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 317 

in a melancholy tone, “ what he wrongly consid¬ 
ered a sacred duty. Believe me, he hesitated a 
long time before he could decide to apply to you 
on a subject painful to you both. You repelled 
him, you were obliged to hear him. He knew not 
what imperious reasons dictated your conduct. 
Blinded by unjust anger, he swore to obtain by 
threats what you refused to give voluntarily. Re¬ 
solved to attack your domestic happiness, he had 
collected overwhelming proofs against you. Par¬ 
don him; an oath given to his dying brother bound 
him.’^ He took from the mantel piece a bundle of 
papers through which he glanced as he continued 
speaking: “ These proofs that cannot be denied, I 
now hold in my hand. This is the certificate of the 
Rev. Mr. Sedley; this the declaration of Mrs. 
Dobbin, the farmer’s wife; and these others are the 
statements of the physician and of several persons 
who were acquainted with Madame de La Verberie 
during her stay near London. Not a single link 
is missing. I had great difficulty in getting these 
papers away from M. de Clameran. Perhaps he 
had a suspicion of my intentions. This, madame, 
is what I intended doing with these proofs.” 

With a rapid motion he threw the bundle of 
papers into the fire, where they blazed up, and, in 
a moment, nothing remained of them but a little 
heap of ashes. “ All is now destroyed, madame,” 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


318 

he resumed, his eyes sparkling with the most gen¬ 
erous resolutions. “ The past, if you desire it, 
is as completely annihilated as those papers. If 
any one hereafter, dares accuse you of having had 
a son before your marriage, treat him as a vile 
calumniator. There are no longer any proofs; you 
are free.” 

Madame Fauvel began to understand the sense 
of this scene — the truth dawned upon her be¬ 
wildered mind. This noble youth, who protected 
her from De Clameran’s anger, who restored her 
peace of mind and the exercise of her own free 
will, by destroying all proofs of her past, who in 
fact saved her, was, must be, the child whom she 
had abandoned — Valentin-Raoul. At this mo¬ 
ment she forgot everything. Maternal tenderness, 
so long restrained, now welled up and overflowed 
as, in a scarcely audible voice, she murmured: 
“ Raoul! ” 

At this name, uttered in so thrilling a tone, the 
young man staggered, as if overcome by an un¬ 
hoped-for-happiness. “Yes, Raoul,” he cried; 
“ Raoul, who would rather die a thousand times 
than cause his mother the slightest pain; Raoul, 
who would shed his life’s blood to spare her one 
tear.” 

She made no attempt to struggle or resist; all 
her body trembled as she recognized her first-born. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 319 

She opened her arms, and Raoul sprang into them, 
saying, in a choked voice: “Mother! my dear 
mother! Bless you for this first kiss! ” 

Alas! this was the sad truth. This dear son she 
had never seen before. He had been taken from 
her, despite her prayers and tears, without a 
mother’s embrace; and this kiss she had just given 
him was indeed the first. But joy so great, fol¬ 
lowing upon so much anguish, was more than the 
excited mother could bear; she sank back in her 
chair almost fainting, and, with a sort of medita¬ 
tive rapture, gazed in an eager way upon her long- 
lost son, who was now kneeling at her feet. With 
her hands she stroked his soft curls; she admired 
his white forehead, pure as a young girl’s and his 
large, trembling eyes; and she hungered after his 
red lips. 

“O mother! ” he said: “words cannot describe 
my feelings when I heard that my uncle had dared 
to threaten you. He threaten you! Ah! when my 
father told him to apply to you, he was no longer in 
his right mind. I have known you for a long, long 
time. Often have my father and I hovered around 
your happy home to catch a glimpse of you through 
the window. When you passed by in your carriage, 
he would say to me: ‘There is your mother, 
Raoul! ’ To look upon you was our greatest joy. 
When we knew you were going to a ball, we would 


320 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

wait near the door to see you enter, beautiful and 
adorned. How often, in the depth of winter, have 
I raced with your fast horses, to admire you till 
the last moment! ’’ 

Tears — the sweetest tears she had ever shed — 
coursed down Madame Fauvel’s cheeks, as she 
listened to the musical tones of Raoul’s voice. This 
voice was so like Gaston’s, that it recalled to her 
the fresh and adorable sensations of her youth. 
She seemed to live over again those early stolen 
meetings — to feel once more the beatings of her 
virgin heart. It seemed as though nothing had 
happened since Gaston folded her in his fond em¬ 
brace. Andre, her two sons, Madeleine — all were 
forgotten in this new-found affection. 

Raoul went on to say: “ Only yesterday I 
learned that my uncle had been to demand for me 
a few crumbs of your wealth. Why did he take 
such a step? I am poor, it is true — very poor; 
but I am too familiar with poverty to be fright¬ 
ened of it. I have a clear brain and willing hands 
— they will earn me a living. You are very rich, 
I have been told. What is that to me? Keep all 
your fortune, my darling mother; but give me a 
corner in your heart. Let me love you. Promise 
me that this first kiss shall not be the last. No 
one will ever know; be not afraid. I shall be able 
to hide my happiness.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 321 

And Madame Fauvel had dreaded this son! Ah! 
how bitterly did she now reproach herself for not 
having sooner flown to meet him. She questioned 
him regarding the past; she wished to know how 
he had lived — what he had been doing. He re¬ 
plied that he had nothing to conceal; his existence 
had been that of every poor man’s child. The 
farmer’s wife who had brought him up had always 
treated him with affection. She had even given 
him an education superior to his condition in life, 
and rather beyond her means, because she thought 
him so handsome and intelligent. When about 
sixteen years of age, she procured him a situation 
in a banking house; and he was commencing to 
earn his own living, when one day a stranger came 
to him, and said: “ I am your father,” and took 
him away with him. Since then nothing was 
wanting to his happiness, save a mother’s tender¬ 
ness. He had suffered but one great sorrow, and 
that was the day when Gaston de Clameran — his 
father — had died in his arms. “ But now,” he 
said, all is forgotten. Have I been unhappy? 
I no longer know, since I see you — since I love 
you.” 

Madame Fauvel was oblivious of the lapse of 
time, but fortunately Raoul was on the watch. 
^‘Why, it is seven o’clock!” he suddenly ex¬ 
claimed. This exclamation brought Madame 


322 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Fauvel abruptly back to the reality. Seven o’clock! 
What would her family think of this long absence? 

“ Shall I see you again, mother? ” asked Raoul, 
as they were about to separate. 

“Oh yes!” she replied, fondly; “yes, often, 
every day, to-morrow.” 

But now, for the first time since her marriage, 
Madame Fauvel perceived that she was not mis¬ 
tress of her actions. Never before had she had 
occasion to wish for uncontrolled liberty. She left 
her heart and soul behind her in the room of the 
Hotel du Louvre, where she had just found her 
son. She imagined that Madeleine looked at her 
strangely on her return home. Did she suspect 
something? For several days she had asked em¬ 
barrassing questions. She must beware of her. 

This uneasiness changed the affection which 
Madame Fauvel had hitherto felt for her adopted 
daughter into positive dislike. She, so kind and 
loving, regretted having placed over herself a vigi¬ 
lant spy from whom nothing escaped. She pon¬ 
dered what means she could take to avoid the pene¬ 
trating watchfulness of a girl who was accustomed 
to read in her face every thought that crossed her 
mind. With unspeakable satisfaction she thought 
of a way which she imagined would please all 
parties. During the last two years the banker’s 
cashier and protege, Prosper Bertomy, had been 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 323 

devoted in his attentions to Madeleine. Madame 
Fauvel decided to do all in her power to hasten 
matters, so that, Madeleine once married and out 
of the house, there would be no one to criticize 
her own movements. That very evening, with a 
duplicity of which she would have been incapable 
a few days before, she began to question Madeleine 
about her sentiments towards Prosper. 

“ Ah, ah, mademoiselle,” she said gayly, “ is it 
thus you permit yourself to choose a husband with¬ 
out my permission? ” 

“ But, aunt! I thought you — ” 

“ Yes, I know; you thought I had suspected 
the true state of affairs? That is precisely what 
I had done.” Then, in a serious tone, she added: 
“ Therefore, nothing remains but to obtain the con¬ 
sent of Master Prosper. Do you think he will 
grant it? ” 

“ He! aunt. Ah! if he only dared — ” 

“Ah, indeed! you seem to know all about it, 
mademoiselle.” 

Madeleine, blushing and confused, hung her 
head, and said nothing. Madame Fauvel drew her 
towards her, and continued in her most affectionate 
voice: “ My dear child, do not be distressed. Is 
it possible that you, usually so sharp, supposed us 
to be in ignorance of your secret? Did you think 
that Prosper would have been so warmly welcomed 


324 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


by your uncle and myself, had we not approved 
of him in every respect? 

Madeleine threw her arms round her aunt’s neck, 
and murmured: Oh, thank you, my dear aunt, 
thank you; you are kind, you love me! ” 

Madame Fauvel said to herself: “ I will make 
Andre speak to Prosper, and before two months 
are over the marriage can take place.” 

Unfortunately, Madame Fauvel was so engrossed 
by her new passion, which did not leave her a mo¬ 
ment for reflection, that she put off this project. 
Spending a portion of each day at the Hotel du 
Louvre with Raoul she did not cease devoting her 
thoughts to insuring him an independent fortune 
and a good position. She had not yet ventured 
to speak to him on the subject. 

“ This,” said Louis de Clameran to her at their 
next meeting, “ is what I have planned. To¬ 
morrow or next day, you will receive a letter from 
your cousin at St. Remy, telling you that she has 
sent her son to Paris, and begging you to watch 
over him. Naturally you show this letter to your 
husband; and a few days afterwards he warmly 
welcomes your nephew, Raoul de Lagors, a hand¬ 
some, rich, attractive young man, who will do 
everything he can to please him, and who will 
succeed.” 

“ Never, sir,” replied Madame Fauvel, “ my 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 325 

cousin is a pious, honorable woman, and nothing 
would induce her to countenance so shameful a 
transaction.” 

The marquis smiled scornfully, and asked: 
“ Who told you that I intended to confide in her? ” 

“ But you would be obliged to do so! ” 

“ You are very simple, madame. The letter 
which you will receive, and show to your husband, 
will be dictated by me, and posted at St. Remy by 
a friend of mine. If I spoke of the obligations 
under which you have placed your cousin, it was 
merely to show you that, in case of accident, her 
own interest would make her serve you. Do you 
see any other obstacle to this plan, madame? ” 

Madame Fauvel’s eyes flashed with indignation. 

Is my will of no account? ” she exclaimed. “ You 
seem to have made all your arrangements without 
consulting me at all.” 

“ Excuse me,” said the marquis with ironical 
politeness; “ I am sure that you will take the 
same view of the matter as myself.” 

“ But it is a crime, sir, that you propose — an 
abominable crime!” 

This speech seemed to arouse all the bad passions 
slumbering in De Clameran’s bosom; and his pale 
face had a fiendish expression as he fiercely replied: 
“ I think we do not quite understand each other. 
Before you begin to talk about crime, think over 


326 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


your past life. You were not so timid and scrupu¬ 
lous when you gave yourself over to your lover. It 
is true that you did not hesitate to refuse to share 
his exile, when for your sake he had just jeop¬ 
ardized his life by killing two men. You felt 
no scruples at abandoning your child in London; 
although rolling in wealth, you never even inquired 
if this poor waif had bread to eat. You felt no 
scruples about marrying M. Fauvel. Did you tell 
your confiding husband of the lines of shame con¬ 
cealed beneath your wreath of orange blossoms? 
No! All these crimes you indulged in; and, when 
in Gaston’s name I demand reparation, you indig¬ 
nantly refuse! It is too late! You ruined the 
father; but you shall save the son, or I swear you 
shall no longer cheat the world of its esteem.” 

“ I will obey you, sir,” murmured the trembling, 
frightened woman. 

The following week, Raoul, now Raoul de 
Lagors, was seated at the banker’s dinner table, 
between Madame Fauvel and Madeleine. 

It was not without the most acute suffering and 
self-condemnation that Madame Fauvel submitted 
to the will of the relentless Marquis de Clameran. 
She had used every argument and entreaty to 
soften him; but he merely looked upon her with a 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 327 

triumphant, sneering smile, when she knelt at his 
feet, and implored him to be merciful. Neither 
tears nor prayers moved his depraved soul. Dis¬ 
appointed, and almost desperate, she sought the 
intercession of her son. Raoul was in a state of 
furious indignation at the sight of his mother’s 
distress, and hastened to demand an apology from 
De Clameran. But he had reckoned without his 
host. He soon returned with downcast eyes, and 
moodily angry at his own powerlessness, declaring 
that safety demanded a complete surrender to the 
tyrant. Now only did the wretched woman fully 
fathom the abyss into which she was being dragged, 
and clearly see the labyrinth of crime of which 
she was becoming the victim. Raoul did his utmost 
to deserve this cordial reception. If his early 
education had been neglected, and he lacked those 
delicate refinements of manner and conversation 
which home influence imparts, his superior tact 
concealed these defects. He possessed the happy 
faculty of reading characters, and adapting his con¬ 
versation to the minds of his listeners. Before a 
week had gone by, he was a favorite with M. 
Fauvel, intimate with Abel and Lucien, and insep¬ 
arable from Prosper Bertomy, the cashier, who 
then spent all his evenings with the banker’s 
family. 

Raoul’s intimacy with his cousins threw him 


328 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


among a set of rich young men, and as a conse¬ 
quence, instead of reforming, he daily grew more 
dissipated and reckless. Gambling, racing, expen¬ 
sive suppers, made money slip through his fingers 
like grains of sand. 

In three months, Raoul had squandered a little 
fortune. In the first place, he was obliged to have 
bachelor apartments, prettily furnished. He was 
in want of everything, just like a shipwrecked 
sailor. He asked for a horse and brougham, how 
could she refuse him? Then every day there was 
some fresh whim to be satisfied. 

When she would gently remonstrate, RaouFs 
beautiful eyes would fill with tears, and in a sad, 
humble tone he would say: “ Alas! I am a child, 
a poor fool, I ask too much. I forget that I am 
only the son of poor Valentine, and not of the rich 
banker’s wife! ” 

This touching repentance wrung her heart. The 
poor boy had suffered so much that it was her 
duty to console him, and she would finish by ex¬ 
cusing him. She soon discovered that he was 
jealous and envious of his two brothers — for, 
after all, they were his brothers — Abel and 
Lucien. 

“You never refuse them anything,” he would 
say; “ they were fortunate enough to enter life by 
the golden gate. Their every wish is gratified; 


MONSIEUR LECOQ,—MASTER-MIND 329 

they enjoy wealth, position, home affection, and 
have a splendid fortune awaiting them/’ 

‘‘ But what is lacking to your happiness, un¬ 
happy child? ” Madame Fauvel would ask in 
despair. 

What do I want? apparently nothing, in reality 
everything. Do I possess anything legitimately? 
What right have I to your affection, to the com¬ 
forts and luxuries you heap upon me, to the name 
I bear? Have I not, so to say, stolen even my 
life? 

When Raoul talked in this strain, she was ready 
to do anything, so that he should not be envious 
of her two other sons. As spring approached, she 
told him she wished him to spend the summer in 
the country, near her villa at St. Germain. She 
expected he would offer some objection. But not 
at all. The proposal seemed to please him, and a 
few days after he told her he had rented a little 
house at Vesinet, and intended having his furni¬ 
ture moved into it. 

Then, just think, dear mother, what a happy 
summer we will spend together! ” he said with 
beaming eyes. 

She was delighted for many reasons, one of 
which was that the prodigal’s expenses would prob¬ 
ably diminish. Anxiety as to the exhausted state 
of her finances made her bold enough to chide him 


330 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


at the dinner-table one day for having lost two 
thousand francs at the races the day before. 

‘‘ You are severe, my dear,” said M. Fauvel 
with the carelessness of a rich man. Mamma 
De Lagors will pay; mammas were created for the 
special purpose of paying.” And, not observing 
the effect these words had upon his wife, he 
turned to Raoul, and added: “ Don’t worry your¬ 
self, my boy; when you want money, come to me, 
and I will lend you some.” 

What could Madame Fauvel say? Had she 
not followed De Clameran’s orders, and announced 
that Raoul was very rich? Why had she been 
made to tell this unnecessary lie? She all at once 
perceived the snare which had been laid for her; 
but now she was caught, and it was too late to 
struggle. The banker’s offer was soon accepted. 
That same week Raoul went to his uncle, and 
boldly borrowed ten thousand francs. When 
Madame Fauvel heard of this piece of audacity, 
she wrung her hands in despair. 

“ What can he want with so much money? ” she 
moaned to herself. 

One day, after complaining more bitterly than 
usual of Raoul, and proving to Madame Fauvel 
that it was impossible for this state of affairs to 
continue much longer, the marquis declared that 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 331 

he saw but one way of preventing a catastrophe. 
This was, that he (De Clameran) should marry 
Madeleine. Madame Fauvel had long ago been 
prepared for anything his cupidity could attempt. 
But if she had given up all hope of happiness for 
herself, if she consented to the sacrifice of her 
own peace of mind, it was because she thus hoped 
to insure the security of those dear to her. This 
unexpected declaration shocked her. “ Do you 
suppose for an instant, sir,” she indignantly ex¬ 
claimed, “ that I will consent to any such dis¬ 
graceful project? ” 

With a nod, the marquis answered: “ Yes.” 

“ What sort of a woman do you think I am, 
sir? Alas! I was very guilty once, but the punish¬ 
ment now exceeds the fault. And does it become 
you to be constantly reproaching me with my long- 
past imprudence? So long as I alone had to suffer, 
you found me weak and timid; but, now that you 
attack those I love, I rebel.” 

“ Would it then, madame, be such a very great 
misfortune for Mademoiselle Madeleine to be¬ 
come the Marchioness de Clameran? ” 

“ My niece, sir, chose, of her own free will, a 
husband whom she will shortly marry. She loves 
M. Prosper Bertomy.” 

The marquis disdainfully shrugged his shoulders. 


332 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“A school-girl-love-affair,” said he; “she will for¬ 
get all about it when you wish her to do so.” 

“ I will never wish it.” 

“ Excuse me,” he replied, in the low, suppressed 
tone of a man trying to control himself; “let us 
not waste time in these idle discussions. Hitherto 
you have always commenced by protesting against 
my proposed plans, and in the end you have con¬ 
sented. You will do so now.” 

:|e 5|e sjc * 5fj 5|« j|: 

He loved Madeleine too passionately to feel 
aught save the bitterest hate towards the man 
whom she had freely chosen, and who still pos¬ 
sessed her heart. De Clameran knew that he 
could marry her at once if he chose; but in what 
way? By holding a sword of terror over her head, 
and forcing her to be his. He became frenzied at 
the idea of possessing her person, while her heart 
and soul would always be with Prosper. Thus he 
swore that, before marrying, he would so cover 
Prosper with shame and ignominy that no honest 
person would speak to him. He had at first 
thought of killing him, but he preferred to dis¬ 
grace him. He imagined that there would be no 
difficulty in ruining the unfortunate young man. 
He soon found himself mistaken. Though Prosper 
led a life of reckless dissipation, he preserved 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 335 

order in his disorder. If in a state of miserable en¬ 
tanglement, and obliged to resort to all sorts of 
make-shifts to escape his creditors, his caution 
prevented the world from knowing it. Vainly did 
Raoul with his pockets full of gold, tempt him to 
play high; every effort to hasten his ruin failed. 
When he played he did not seem to care whether 
he lost or won; nothing aroused him from his cold 
indifference. His mistress, Nina Gipsy, was ex¬ 
travagant, but her devotion to Prosper restrained 
her from going beyond certain limits. Raoul’s 
great intimacy with Prosper enabled him to fully 
understand the state of his mind; that he was try¬ 
ing to drown his disappointment in excitement, 
but had not given up all hope. 

“ You need not hope to beguile Prosper into 
committing any serious piece of folly,” said Raoul 
to his uncle; “his head is as cool as an usurer’s. 
What object he has in view I know not. Perhaps 
when he has spent his last coin he will blow his 
brains out; he certainly never will descend to any 
dishonorable act; he will never have recourse to 
the money in the banker’s safe.” 

“ We must urge him on,” replied De Clameran; 
“ lead him into more extravagances; make Gipsy 
call on him for costly finery, lend him plenty of 
money.” 

Raoul shook his head, as if convinced that his 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


334 

efforts would be in vain. “ You don^t know Pros¬ 
per, uncle; we can’t galvanize a dead man. Made¬ 
leine killed him the day she discarded him. He 
takes no interest in anything on the face of the 
earth.” 

We can wait.” 

They did wait; and, to the great surprise of 
Madame Fauvel, Raoul once more became an af¬ 
fectionate and dutiful son, as he had been during 
De Clameran’s absence. From reckless extrava¬ 
gance he changed to great economy. Under pre¬ 
text of saving money, he remained at Vesinet, 
although it was very uncomfortable and disagree¬ 
able there in the winter. He wished, he said, to 
expiate his sins in solitude. The truth was, that, 
by remaining in the country, he insured his liberty, 
and escaped his mother’s visits. It was about 
this time that Madame Fauvel, charmed with the 
improvement in Raoul, asked her husband to give 
him some employment in the bank. M. Fauvel 
was delighted to please his wife, and at once offered 
Raoul the place of corresponding clerk, with a 
salary of five hundred francs a month. The ap¬ 
pointment pleased Raoul; but in obedience to De 
Clameran’s command, he refused it, saying, he had 
no taste for banking. This refusal so provoked 
the banker, that he rather bitterly reproached 
Raoul, and told him not to expect him to do any- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 335 

thing to assist him in the future. Raoul seized this 
pretext for ostensibly ceasing his visits. When he 
wanted to see his mother, he would come in the 
afternoon or evening, when he knew that M. Fauvel 
would be from home; and he only came often 
enough to keep himself informed of what was going 
on in the household. This sudden lull after so many 
storms appeared ominous to Madeleine. She was 
more certain than ever that the plot was now ripe, 
and would suddenly burst upon them, without 
warning. She did not impart her presentiment to 
her aunt, but prepared herself for the worst. 

“ What can they be doing? ” Madame Fauvel 
would say; “ can they have decided not to perse¬ 
cute us any more? 

‘‘ Yes, what can they be doing? ” Madeleine 
would murmur. 

Louis and Raoul gave no signs of life, because, 
like expert hunters, they were silently hiding, and 
watching for a favorable opportunity of pouncing 
upon their victims. Never losing sight of Prosper 
for a day, Raoul had exhausted every effort of his 
fertile mind to compromise his honor — to ensnare 
him into some inextricable entanglement. But, as 
he had foreseen, the cashier’s indifference offered 
little hope of success. De Clameran began to grow 
impatient at this delay, and had fully determined 
to bring matters to a crisis himself, when one night. 


336 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


about three o’clock, he was aroused by Raoul. He 
knew that some event of great importance must 
have happened, to make his nephew come to him 
at that hour of the night. 

“ What is the matter? ” he anxiously inquired. 

“ Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. I have 
just left Prosper.” 

Well?” 

“ I had him, Madame Gipsy, and three other 
friends to dine with me. After dinner, I made up 
a game of baccarat, but Prosper took no interest 
in it, although he was quite tipsy.” 

“ You must be drunk yourself, to come here wak¬ 
ing me up in the middle of the night, to hear this 
idle gabble,” said Louis, angrily. 

Now wait until you hear the rest.” 

“ Zounds! speak then! ” 

“ After the game was over, we went to supper; 
Prosper became quite intoxicated, and betrayed 
the word with which he closes the money-safe.” 

At these words De Clameran uttered a cry of 
triumph. What was the word? ” 

“ His mistress’s name.” 

‘‘ Gipsy! Yes, that would be five letters.” 
Louis was so excited that he jumped out of bed, 
slipped on his dressing-gown, and began to stride 
up and down the room. “ Now we have got him! ” 
he said, with vindictive satisfaction. “ There’s no 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 337 

chance of escape for him now! Ah! the virtuous 
cashier won’t touch the money confided to him; 
so we must touch it for him. His disgrace will 
be just as great no matter who opens the safe. 
We have the word; you know where the key is 
kept.” 

“ Yes; when M. Fauvel goes out he always 
leaves the key in a drawer of his secretary, in his 
bedroom.” 

“ Very good. You will go and get this key from 
Madame Fauvel. If she does not give it up will¬ 
ingly, use force, then, when having got the key, 
you will open the safe, and take out every franc 
it contains. Ah! Master Bertomy, you shall pay 
dear for being loved by the woman I love! ” 

For five minutes, De Clameran indulged in such 
a tirade of abuse against Prosper, mingled with 
rhapsodies of love for Madeleine, that Raoul 
thought him almost out of his mind, and tried to 
calm him. “ Before crying victory,” he said, 
“ you had better consider the drawbacks and dif¬ 
ficulties. Prosper might change the word to¬ 
morrow.” 

“ Yes, he might; but it is not probable he will. 
He will forget what he said while drunk; besides, 
we will be quiet.” 

“ That is not all. M. Fauvel has given orders 


338 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


that no large sum shall be kept in the safe over 
night; before closing time, everything is sent to 
the Bank of France.” 

“ A large sum will be kept there the night I 
choose.” 

“ You think so? ” 

“ I think this; I have a hundred thousand crowns 
deposited with M. Fauvel; and if I desire the 
money to be paid over to me early some morning, 
directly the bank is opened, of course the money 
will be kept in the safe the previous night.” 

“ A splendid idea! ” cried Raoul, admiringly. 

It was a good idea; and the plotters spent sev¬ 
eral hours in studying its strong and weak points. 
Raoul feared that he would never be able to over¬ 
come Madame Fauvel’s resistance; and, even if 
she yielded the key, would she not go directly 
and confess everything to her husband, rather 
than sacrifice an innocent man? But Louis felt 
no uneasiness on this score. “ One sacrifice neces¬ 
sitates another,” he said: “ she has made too many 
to draw back at the last one. She sacrificed her 
adopted daughter; therefore she will sacrifice a 
young man, who is, after all, a comparative stranger 
to her.” 

‘‘ But Madeleine will never believe any harm of 
Prosper; therefore — ” 

‘‘ You talk like an idiot, my verdant nephew! ” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER--MIND 339 

Before the conversation was ended, the plan 
seemed feasible. The scoundrels made all their 
arrangements, and fixed the day for committing the 
crime. They selected the evening of the 27th of 
February, because Raoul knew that M. Fauvel 
would be dining out, and Madeleine was invited to 
a party on that evening. Unless something unfore¬ 
seen should occur, Raoul knew that he would find 
Madame Fauvel alone at half-past eight o’clock. 

“ I will ask M. Fauvel this very day,” said De 
Clameran, “ to have my money ready for Tuesday.” 

“ That is a very short notice, uncle,” objected 
Raoul. You know there are certain forms to 
be gone through, and he can claim a longer time 
wherein to pay it over.” 

“ That is true, but our banker is proud of always 
being prepared to pay any amount of money, no 
matter how large; and if I say I am pressed, and 
would like to be accommodated on Tuesday, he 
will make a point of having it ready for me. Then, 
you must ask Prosper, as a personal favor to you, 
to have the money on hand at the opening of the 
bank.” 

Raoul once more examined the situation, to dis¬ 
cover if there was not the grain of sand which so 
often becomes a mountain at the last moment. 
“ Prosper and Gipsy are to be with me at Vesinet 
this evening,” he said; “but I can not ask him 


340 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

anything until I know the banker’s answer. As 
soon as you have arranged matters with him, send 
me word by Manuel.” 

“ I can’t send Manuel, for an excellent reason 
— he has left me; but I can send another messen¬ 
ger.” 

On Monday evening, about six o’clock, Raoul 
felt so depressed and miserable that he asked him¬ 
self whether, even if he wished it, he would be 
able to obey. 

Are you afraid? ” asked De Clameran who 
had anxiously watched these inward struggles. 

‘‘Yes,” replied Raoul, “yes; I have not your 
ferocious will, and I am afraid! ” 

“ What, you, my pupil, my friend! It is not 
possible. Come, a little energy, one more stroke 
of our oars and we are in port. You are only 
nervous; come to dinner, and a bottle of Burgundy 
will soon set you right.” 

They were walking along the boulevards. De 
Clameran insisted upon their entering a restau¬ 
rant, and having dinner in a private room. Vainly 
did he strive, however, to chase the gloom from 
his companion’s pale face. Raoul sat listening, 
with a sullen frown, to his friend’s jest about 
“ swallowing the bitter pill gracefully.” Urged by 
Louis, he drank two bottles of wine, in hopes that 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 341 

intoxication would inspire him with courage to 
do the deed. But the drunkenness he sought came 
not; the wine proved false; at the bottom of the 
last bottle he found nothing but anger and disgust. 
The clock struck eight. 

“ The time has come,” said Louis firmly. 

Raoul turned livid; his teeth chattered, and his 
limbs trembled so that he was unable to stand on 
his feet. “ Oh, I cannot do it! ” he cried in an 
agony of terror and rage. 

De Clameran^s eyes flashed angrily at the pros¬ 
pect of all his plans being ruined at the last mo¬ 
ment. But he dared not give way to his anger, for 
fear of exasperating Raoul, whom he knew to be 
anxious for an excuse to quarrel; so he violently 
pulled the bell-rope. A waiter appeared. “ A 
bottle of port,” he said, “ and a bottle of rum.” 

When the waiter returned with the bottles, Louis 
filled a large glass with the two liquors mixed, and 
handed it to Raoul. “ Drink this! ” he said. 

Raoul emptied the glass at a draught, and a faint 
color returned to his pale cheek. He arose, and 
striking the table with his fist, cried fiercely, 
“ Come along! ” 

But before he had walked thirty yards, the 
fictitious energy inspired by drink deserted him. 
He clung to De Clameran’s arm, and was almost 


342 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


dragged along, trembling like a criminal on his way 
to the scaffold. 

“ If I can once get him in the house,thought 
Louis, who had studied Raoul and understood him; 

once inside, his role will sustain him and carry 
him through, and all will be well. The cowardly 
baby! I would like to wring his neck! ” 

As they walked along he said: “ Now, don’t 
forget our arrangements, and be careful how you 
enter the house; everything depends upon that. 
Have you the pistol in your pocket? ” 

“ Yes, yes! Let me alone! ” 

It was well that De Clameran accompanied 
Raoul; for, when he got in sight of the door his 
courage gave way, and he longed to retreat. “ A 
poor, helpless woman! ” he groaned, “ and an 
honest man who pressed my hand in friendship 
yesterday, to be cowardly ruined, betrayed by me! 
Ah, it is too base, too cowardly! ” 

“ Come,” said De Clameran in a tone of con¬ 
tempt, “ I thought you had more nerve. When a 
fellow has no more pluck than that, he should re¬ 
main honest! ” 

Raoul overcame his weakness, and, silencing the 
clamors of his conscience, hurried to the house and 
pulled the bell. “ Is Madame Fauvel at home? ” 
he inquired of the servant who opened the door. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 343 

“ Madame is alone in the little drawing-room,” 
was the reply. 

And Raoul went up stairs. 

***5l«*5l«5!«* 

De Clameran’s injunction to Raoul was: “ Be 
very cautious how you enter the room; your ap¬ 
pearance must tell everything, and thus avoid im¬ 
possible explanations.” 

The recommendation was useless. The instant 
that Raoul entered the room, the sight of his pale, 
haggard face and wild eyes made Madame Fauvel 
exclaim: Raoul! What misfortune has happened 
to you? ” 

The sound of her tender, affectionate voice 
acted like an electric shock upon the young bandit. 
He shook like a leaf. But at the same time his 
mind seemed to change. Louis was not mistaken 
in his estimate of his companion’s character. Raoul 
was on the stage, his part was to be played; his 
assurance returned to him; his cheating, lying 
nature assumed the ascendant. “ This misfortune 
is the last I shall ever suffer, mother! ” 

Madame Fauvel rushed towards him, and, 
seizing his hand, gazed searchingly into his eyes, 
as if to read his very soul. What is the matter? 
Raoul, my dear son, do tell me what troubles you.” 

He gently pushed her from him. The matter 


344 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


is, my mother,” he said, in a voice of heart-broken 
despair, that I am unworthy of you, unworthy 
of my noble father! ” 

She shook her head as though to protest. 

“Alas! ” he said, “ I know and judge myself. 
No one can reproach me for my infamous conduct 
more bitterly than does my own conscience. I am 
not naturally wicked, but only a miserable fool. 
At times I am like an insane man, and am not 
responsible for my actions. Ah, my dear mother, 
I would not be what I am, if you had watched over 
my childhood. But brought up among strangers, 
with no guide but my own evil passions, nothing 
to restrain me, no one to advise me, no one to 
love me, owning nothing, not even my stolen name, 
I am cursed with vanity and unbounded ambition. 
Poor, with no one to assist me but you, I have the 
tastes and vices of a millionaire’s son. Alas! when 
I found you, the evil was done. Your affection, 
your maternal love, the only true happiness of my 
life, could not save me. I, who had suffered so 
much, endured so many privations, even the pangs 
of hunger, became spoiled by this new life of luxury 
and pleasure which you opened before me. I 
rushed headlong into extravagance, as a drunk¬ 
ard long deprived of drink seizes and drains to 
the dregs the first bottle in his reach.” 

Madame Fauvel listened, silent and terrified, to 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 345 

these words of despair and remorse, which Raoul 
uttered with remarkable vehemence. She dared 
not interrupt him, but felt certain some dreadful 
piece of news was coming. Raoul continued in 
a sad, hopeless tone: “Yes; I have been a weak 
fool. Happiness was within my reach, and I had 
not the sense to stretch forth my hands and grasp 
it. I rejected a delicious reality to eagerly pursue 
a vain phantom. I, who ought to have spent my 
life at your feet, and daily striven to express my 
gratitude for your lavish kindness, have made you 
unhappy, destroyed your peace of mind, and, 
instead of being a blessing, I have been a curse 
ever since the first fatal day you welcomed me to 
your kind heart. Ah, unfeeling brute that I was, 
to squander upon creatures whom I despised, a 
fortune, of which each gold piece must have cost 
you a tear! Too late, too late! I find that with 
you was happiness.’’ 

He stopped, as if overcome by the consciousness 
of his evil deeds, and seemed about to burst into 
tears. 

“ It is never too late to repent, my son,” mur¬ 
mured Madame Fauvel in comforting tones. 

“Ah, if I only could! ” cried Raoul; “but no, 
it is too late! Besides, can I tell how long my 
good resolutions will last? This is not the first 
time that I have condemned myself pitilessly. 


346 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Stinging remorse for each new fault made me swear 
to lead a better life, to sin no more. What was the 
result of these periodical repentances? At the first 
temptation I forgot my remorse and good resolu¬ 
tions. I am weak and mean-spirited, and you are 
not firm enough to govern my vacillating nature. 
While my intentions are good, my actions are vil¬ 
lainous. The disproportion between my extrava¬ 
gant desires, and the means of gratifying them, 
it is too great for me to endure any longer. Who 
knows to what fearful lengths my unfortunate 
disposition may lead me? However, I shall know 
how to do myself justice! he finally said with a 
reckless laugh. 

Madame Fauvel was too cruelly agitated to fol¬ 
low Raoul’s skilful transitions. “ Speak! ” she 
cried, “explain yourself; am I not your mother? 
Tell me the truth; I am ready to hear the worst.” 

He appeared to hesitate, as if afraid to crush 
his mother’s heart by the terrible blow he was 
about to inflict. Then in a voice of gloomy despair 
he replied: “I am ruined! ” 

“ Ruined! ” 

“ Yes, ruined; and I have nothing more to expect 
or hope for. I am dishonored, and all through my 
own fault; no one is to blame but myself.” 

“ Raoul! ” 

“ It is the sad truth, my dear mother; but fear 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 347 

nothing. I shall not trail in the dust the name 
which you bestowed upon me. I will at least 
have the courage not to survive my dishonor. 
Come, mother, don’t pity me, or distress yourself; 
I am one of those miserable beings fated to find no 
peace save in the arms of death. I came into the 
world with misfortune stamped upon my brow. 
Was not my birth a shame and disgrace to you? 
Did not the memory of my existence haunt you 
day and night, filling your soul with remorse? And 
now, when I am restored to you after many years’ 
separation, do I not prove to be a bitter curse 
instead of a blessing? ” 

“ Ungrateful boyl Have I ever reproached 
you? ” 

“Never! Your poor Raoul will die blessing 
you, and with your beloved name upon his lips.” 

“ Die? You die, my son? ” 

“ It must be, my dear mother; honor compels it. 
I am condemned by judges from whose decision 
no appeal can be taken — my conscience and my 
will.” 

An hour ago, Madame Fauvel would have sworn 
that Raoul had made her suffer all the torments 
that a woman could endure; but now she felt that 
all her former troubles were nothing compared with 
her present agony. “ What, then, have you been 
doing, Raoul? ” she gasped. 


348 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Money was intrusted to me; I gambled, and 
lost it.” 

Was it a very large sum? ” 

No; but more than you can replace. My poor 
mother, have I not taken everything from you? 
Have you not given me your last jewel? ” 

But M. de Clameran is rich. He placed his 
fortune at my disposal. I will order the carriage, 
and go to him.” 

“ But M. de Clameran is away, and the money 
must be paid this evening, or I am lost. Alas! I 
have thought it all over and, although it is hard to 
die so young, still fate wills it so.” He pulled the 
pistol from his pocket, and, with a forced smile, 
added: “ This will settle everything.” 

Madame Fauvel was too upset and frightened to 
reflect upon the horror of RaouFs behavior; and 
that these wild threats were a last expedient. For¬ 
getful of the past, careless of the future, her every 
thought concentrated upon the present, she com¬ 
prehended but one fact; that her son was about 
to commit suicide, and that she was powerless to 
prevent the fearful deed. Oh, wait a little while, 
my son!” she cried. “Andre will soon return 
home, and I will ask him to give me — how much 
did you lose? ” 

“ Thirty thousand francs.” 

“ You shall have them to-morrow.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 349 

“ But I must have the money to-night.” 

Madame Fauvel wrung her hands in despair. 
“Oh! Why did you not come to me sooner, my 
son? Why did you not have confidence enough in 
me to come at once for help? This evening there is 
no one in the cashier’s office to open the safe, 
otherwise — ” 

“ The safe! ” cried Raoul, “ but you know where 
the key is kept? ” 

“ Yes, it is in the next room.” 

“Well! ” he exclaimed, with a bold look that 
caused Madame Fauvel to lower her eyes, and keep 
silent. “ Give me the key, mother,” he said in a 
tone of entreaty. 

“O Raoul, Raoul! ” 

“ It is my life I am asking of you.” 

These words decided her; she snatched up a 
candle, rushed into her bedroom, opened the secre¬ 
tary, and took out M. Fauvel’s key. But, when 
about to hand it to Raoul, her reason returned to 
her. “ No,” she stammered, “ no, it is impossible.” 
He did not insist, and seemed about to leave the 
room. “True,” said he; “then, mother, a last 
kiss.” 

“ What could you do with the key, Raoul? ” 
asked Madame Fauvel, stopping him. “ You do 
not know the secret word.” 

“ No; but I can try to open it.” 


350 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ You know that money is never kept in the safe 
over night.” 

“ Nevertheless, I can make the attempt. If I 
open the safe and find money in it, it will be a 
miracle, showing that Heaven has pitied my mis¬ 
fortunes.” 

“ And if you are not successful, will you promise 
me to wait until to-morrow? ” 

“ I swear it, by my father’s memory.” 

“ Then take the key and follow me.” 

Pale and trembling, Raoul and Madame Fauvel 
passed through the banker’s study, and down the 
narrow staircase leading to the offices and cashier’s 
room below. Raoul walked in front, holding the 
light, and the key of the safe. Madame Fauvel 
was convinced that it would be utterly impossible 
to open the safe, as the key was useless without 
the secret word and of course Raoul could not 
know what that was. Even granting that some 
chance had revealed the secret to him, he would 
find but little in the safe, since everything was 
deposited in the bank of France. The only anxiety 
she felt was, how Raoul would bear the disap¬ 
pointment, how she could calm his despair. She 
thought that she would gain time by letting Raoul 
make the attempt; and then, when he found he 
could not open the safe, he would keep his promise 
and wait until the next day. When he sees there 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 351 

is no chance of success/’ she thought, “ he will 
wait as he promised; and then to-morrow — to¬ 
morrow — ” 

What she would do on the morrow she knew 
not, she did not even ask herself. But in extreme 
situations the least delay inspires hope, as if a 
short respite meant sure salvation. The con¬ 
demned man, at the last moment, begs for a re¬ 
prieve of a day, an hour, a few seconds. Raoul 
was about to kill himself; his mother prayed to 
God to grant her one night; as if in this short space 
of time some unexpected relief would come to end 
her misery. They reached Prosper’s office, and 
Raoul placed the lamp on a high stool so that it 
lighted the whole room. He had then recovered 
all his coolness, or rather that mechanical precision 
of movement, almost independent of will, which 
men accustomed to peril always find ready in time 
of need. Rapidly, with the dexterity of experience, 
he slipped the buttons on the five letters composing 
the name of G,i,p,s,y. His features during this 
short operation, expressed the most intense anxiety. 
He was fearful that the awful energy he had shown 
might after all be of no use; perhaps the safe would 
remain closed, perhaps the money would not be 
there. Prosper might have changed the word, or 
neglected to have the money in the safe. Madame 
Fauvel saw these visible apprehensions with alarm. 


352 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


She read in his eyes that wild hq>e of a man who, 
passionately desiring an object, ends by persuading 
himself that his own will suffices to overcome all 
obstacles. Having often been present when Pros¬ 
per was preparing to leave his office, Raoul had 
fifty times seen him move the buttons, and lock the 
safe, just before the bank closed. Indeed, having 
a practical turn of mind, and an eye to the future, 
he had even turned the key in the lock on more 
than one occasion. He inserted the key softly, 
and turned it round once, pushed it farther in, and 
turned it a second time; then thrust it right in 
with a jerk, and turned it again. His heart beat 
so loudly that Madame Fauvel could hear its 
throbs. The word had not been changed; the safe 
op)ened. Raoul and his mother simultaneously 
uttered a cry — she of terror, he of triumph. 

“ Shut it again! ’’ exclaimed Madame Fauvel, 
frightened at the incomprehensible result of Raoul’s 
attempt; “ leave it alone, come away.” 

And, half frenzied, she clung to his arm, and 
pulled him away so abruptly, that the key was 
dragged from the lock, and, slipping along the 
glossy varnish of the safe-door made a deep, long 
scratch. But at a glance the young man had per¬ 
ceived three rolls of bank notes on an upper shelf. 
He snatched them up with his left hand, and 
slipped them inside his vest. Exhausted by the 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 353 

effort she had made, Madame Fauvel dropped his 
arm, and, almost fainting with emotion, leaned 
against the back of a chair. 

‘‘Have mercy, Raoul! ” she moaned. “I im¬ 
plore you to put back that money, and I solemnly 
swear I will give you twice as much to-morrow. 
O my son, have pity upon your unhappy mother! ” 

He paid no attention to these words of entreaty, 
but carefully examined the scratch on the safe. 
This trace of the robbery was very visible, and 
alarmed him. 

“ At least you will not take all,” said Madame 
Fauvel; “just keep enough to save yourself, and 
put back the rest.” 

“ What good would that do? What I take will 
be missed just the same.” 

“ Oh, no! not at all. I can account to Andre; I 
will tell him I had a pressing need for some money, 
and opened the safe to get it.” 

In the mean time Raoul had carefully closed the 
safe. “ Come, mother, let us go back to the sitting- 
room. A servant might go there to look for you, 
and be astonished at our absence.” 

Raoul’s cruel indifference and cold calculations 
at such a moment filled Madame Fauvel with indig¬ 
nation. She thought that she had still some influ¬ 
ence over her son — that her prayers and tears 
would have some effect upon his heart. “ Let them 


354 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


be astonished/^ she cried; ‘‘let them come here 
and find us. Then there will be an end to all 
this. Andre will drive me from his house like a 
worthless creature, but I will not sacrifice the inno¬ 
cent. Prosper will be accused of this to-morrow. 
De Clameran has taken from him the woman he 
loved, and now you would deprive him of his 
honor! I will not allow it.” 

She spoke so loud and so angrily that Raoul was 
alarmed. He knew that one of the office-men 
passed the night in a room close by, and although 
it was still early in the evening he might be already 
in bed, and listening to them. “ Come up stairs,” 
he said seizing Madame Fauvel’s arm. 

But she clung to the table, and refused to move 
a step. “ I have been cowardly enough to sacrifice 
Madeleine,” she said, “ but I will not ruin Prosper.” 

Raoul had an argument in reserve which he knew 
would make Madame Fauvel submit to his will. 
“ Now, really,” he said, with a cynical laugh, “ do 
you pretend that you do not know Prosper and I 
arranged this little affair together, and that he is 
waiting to share the booty? ” 

“ It is impossible! ” 

“ What! Do you suppose, then, that chance 
alone told me the word, and placed the money in 
the safe? ” 

“ Prosper is honest.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 355 

“ Of course he is, and so am I too. The only 
thing is, that we both need money.” 

“ You lie.” 

“ No, dear mother. Madeleine dismissed Pros¬ 
per, and the poor fellow has to console himself 
for her cruelty, and this sort of consolation is 
expensive.” 

He took up the lamp, and gently but firmly led 
Madame Fauvel towards the staircase. She me¬ 
chanically suffered him to do so, more bewildered 
by what she had just heard, than she was at the 
opening of the safe-door. “What! ” she gasped; 
“ can Prosper be a thief? ” She began to think 
herself the victim of a terrible nightmare, and that, 
when she awoke, her mind would be relieved of this 
intolerable torture. She helplessly clung to Raoul’s 
arm as he assisted her up the little narrow staircase. 

“ You must put the key back in the secretary,” 
said Raoul, as soon as they were in the bedroom 
again. 

But she did not seem to hear him; so he went 
and put it in the place from which he had seen her 
take it. He then led, or rather carried, Madame 
Fauvel into the little sitting-room, and placed her 
in an easy-chair. The set expressionless look of 
the wretched woman’s eyes, and her dazed manner, 
frightened Raoul, who thought that she was going 
out of her mind. 


356 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


Raoul hurried away to De Clameran, who sprang 
to his feet, ghastly pale, and with great difficulty 
gasped out, “ Well? ” 

“ It is done, uncle, thanks to you; and I am now 
the greatest villain on the face of the earth.’^ He 
unbottoned his vest, and, pulling out the three 
bundles of bank-notes, angrily dashed them upon 
the table, adding, in a tone of hate and contempt: 
“ Now I hope you are satisfied. This is the price 
of the happiness, honor, and perhaps the life, of 
three persons.” 

De Clameran paid no attention to these angry 
words. With feverish eagerness he seized the 
notes, and held them in his hands as if to convince 
himself of the reality of success. Now Madeleine 
is mine,” he cried, excitedly. 

Raoul said nothing. This exhibition of joy, 
after the scene in which he had just been an actor 
disgusted and humiliated him. Louis misinter¬ 
preted his silence, and asked gayly: “ Did you have 
much difficulty? ” 

“ I forbid you ever to allude to this evening’s 
work,” cried Raoul fiercely. Do you hear me? 
I wish to forget it.” 

De Clameran shrugged his shoulders at this out¬ 
burst of anger, and said, in a bantering tone: 
“Just as you please, my handsome nephew; forget 
it if you like. I rather think, though you will not 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 357 

refuse to accept these three hundred and fifty 
thousands francs as a slight memento. Take them 
— they are yours.” 

This generosity seemed neither to surprise nor 
satisfy Raoul. “ According to our agreement,” he 
said sullenly, “ I was to have much more than this.” 

Of course; this is only on account.” 

“ And when am I to have the rest, if you 
please? ” 

“ The day I marry Madeleine, and not before, 
my boy. You are too valuable an assistant to 
lose at present; and you know that, though I 
don’t distrust you, I am not altogether sure of your 
sincere affection for me.” 

Raoul reflected that to commit a crime, and not 
profit by it, would be the height of absurdity. He 
had returned with the intention of breaking off 
all connection with De Clameran; but he now de¬ 
termined that he would not abandon his accomplice 
until there was nothing more to get out of him. 
“ Very well,” he said, “ I accept this on account; 
but remember, I will never do another piece of 
work like this of to-night.” 

De Clameran burst into a loud laugh, and re¬ 
plied: “ That is sensible; now that you are rich, 
you can afford to be honest. Set your conscience 
at rest, for I promise you I will require nothing 
more of you save a few trifling services. You can 


358 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

retire behind the scenes now, while I appear upon 
the stage.” 

For more than an hour after Raoul’s departure, 
Madame Fauvel remained in a state of torpor 
bordering upon unconsciousness. Gradually, how¬ 
ever, she recovered her senses sufficiently to com¬ 
prehend the horrors of her present situation; and 
with the faculty of thought, that of suffering re¬ 
turned. The dreadful scene in which she had taken 
part was still before her affrighted vision; all the 
attending circumstances, unnoticed at the time, 
now struck her forcibly. She saw that she had 
been the dupe of a shameful conspiracy; that 
Raoul had tortured her with cold-blooded cruelty, 
had taken advantage of her tenderness, and played 
with her sufferings. But had Prosper anything to 
do with the robbery? This Madame Fauvel had 
no way of finding out. Ah, Raoul knew how the 
blow would strike when he accused his friend. He 
knew that she would end by believing in the cash¬ 
ier’s complicity. Knowing that Madeleine’s lover 
was leading a life of extravagance and dissipation, 
she thought it very likely he had, from sheer des¬ 
peration, resorted to this bold step to pay his 
debts; her blind affection, moreover, made her anx¬ 
ious to attribute the first idea of crime to any one, 
rather than to her son. She had heard that Pros- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 359 

per was supporting one of those worthless creatures 
whose extravagance impoverishes men, and whose 
evil influence perverts their natures. When a 
young man is thus degraded, will he stop at any 
sin or crime? Alas! Madame Fauvel knew, from 
her own sad experience, to what depths even one 
fault can lead. 

On the following day De Clameran to sustain 
his part in the plot called on Mme. Fauvel, and in 
the presence of Madeleine, he slowly drew from his 
pocket several bundles of bank notes, and laid 
them on the mantle-piece. “ Raoul stole three 
hundred and fifty thousand francs,’^ he said; “I 
return the same amount. It is more than half my 
fortune. Willingly would I give the rest to insure 
this being his last crime.” 

Too inexperienced to penetrate De Clameran’s 
bold, and yet simple plan, Madeleine was dumb 
with astonishment; all her calculations were upset. 

Madame Fauvel, on the contrary, accepted this 
restitution as salvation sent from heaven, “ Oh, 
thanks, sir, thanks! ” she cried, gratefully clasping 
De Clameran’s hand in hers; “you are goodness 
itself! ” 

Louis’ eyes lit up with pleasure. But he rejoiced 
too soon. A minute’s reflection brought back all 
of Madeleine’s distrust. She thought this generos- 


360 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

ity unnatural in a man whom she considered inca¬ 
pable of noble sentiment, and at once concluded 
that it must conceal some snare beneath. What 
are we to do with this money? ” she demanded. 

“ Restore it to M. Fauvel, mademoiselle.” 

“ We restore it, sir, and how? Restoring the 
money is denouncing Raoul, and ruining my aunt. 
Take back your money, sir.” 

De Clameran was too shrewd to insist; he took 
up the money and seemed about to leave. 

“ I comprehend your refusal, mademoiselle, and 
must find another way of accomplishing my wish. 
But, before retiring, let me say that your injustice 
pains me deeply. After the promise you made me, 
I had reason to hope for a kinder welcome.” 

“ I will keep my promise, sir, but not until you 
have furnished security.” 

“ Security! What security? Pray explain your¬ 
self.” 

Something to protect my aunt against Raoul 
after my — marriage. What is my dowry to a man 
who squanders a hundred thousand francs in four 
months? We are making a bargain; I give you 
my hand in exchange for my aunt’s life and honor, 
and of course you must give me some security for 
the performance of your promise.” 

“Oh! I will give you ample securities,” ex¬ 
claimed De Clameran, “ such as will quiet all your 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 361 

suspicious doubts of my good faith. Alas! you 
will not believe in my devotion; what shall I do to 
convince you of its sincerity? Shall I try to save 
M. Bertomy? 

“ Thanks for the offer, sir,” replied Madeleine 
disdainfully; “ if Prosper is guilty, let him be pun¬ 
ished by the law; if he is innocent, God will protect 
him.” 

Madeleine and her aunt rose from their seats 
to signify that the interview was over. De Clam- 
eran bowed, and left the room. “ What pride! 
What determination! The idea of her demanding 
security of me! ” he said to himself as he slowly 
walked away. “ But the proud girl shall be 
humbled yet. She is so beautiful! and, if I did 
not so madly love her — well! so much the worse 
for Raoul! ” 

All winter, Madame Fauvel and Madeleine had 
declined invitations, but they found it necessary 
to attend the Jandidier ball, and they had no 
jewels. Neither of them could go to the ball with¬ 
out jewelry; and every jewel they owned had been 
taken by Raoul, and pawned, and he had the 
tickets. After thinking the matter over, Madeleine 
decided to ask Raoul to devote some of the stolen 
money to redeeming the jewels he had forced from 
his mother. She informed her aunt of her plan, 
saying: “Make an appointment with Raoul; he 


362 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

will not dare to refuse you; and I will go in your 
stead.” And, two days after, the courageous girl 
took a cab, and, regardless of the inclement 
weather, went to Vesinet. She had no idea, then, 
that M. Verduret and Prosper were following close 
behind her, and that they witnessed her interview 
from the top of a ladder. Her bold step, however, 
was fruitless. Raoul swore that he had shared 
with Prosper; that his own half was spent, and that 
he was quite without money. He even refused 
to give up the pawn tickets; and Madeleine had 
to insist most energetically before she could induce 
him to give up four or five trifling articles that were 
absolutely indispensable. De Clameran had 
ordered him to refuse, because he hoped that in 
their distress they would apply to him for help. 
Raoul had obeyed, but only after a violent alter¬ 
cation witnessed by De Clameran’s new valet, 
Joseph Dubois. The accomplices were at that 
time on very bad terms together. The marquis 
was seeking a safe means of getting rid of Raoul; 
and the young scamp had a sort of presentiment 
of his uncle’s unfriendly intentions. Nothing but 
the certainty of impending danger could reconcile 
them; and this was revealed to them at the Jan- 
didier ball. Who was the mysterious mountebank 
that had indulged in such transparent allusions 
to Madame Fauvel’s private troubles, and then said 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 363 

with threatening significance to Louis: “ I was 
your brother Gaston’s friend! ” 

Who he was, where he came from, they could not 
imagine; but they clearly saw that he was a dan¬ 
gerous enemy, and forthwith attempted to assassi¬ 
nate him upon his leaving the ball. Having 
followed him and then having lost him, they be¬ 
came alarmed: “We cannot be too guarded in our 
conduct,” whispered De Clameran; “we shall 
know only too soon who he is.” 

Once more Raoul tried to induce him to give up 
his project of marrying Madeleine. “ Never! ” he 
exclaimed; “ I will marry her, or perish! ” 

They thought that, now they were warned, the 
danger of their being caught was lessened. But 
they did not know the sort of man who was on their 
track. 

Such are the facts that, with an almost incredible 
talent for investigation, had been collected and pre¬ 
pared by M. Verduret, the stout man with the 
jovial face who had taken Prosper under his pro¬ 
tection. Reaching Paris at nine o’clock at night, 
not by the Lyons train as he had announced, but 
by the Orleans one, M. Verduret had hastened to 
the Hotel of the Grand Archangel, where he had 
found the cashier impatiently expecting him. 

“ You are about to hear something extraordi- 


364 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

nary,” he had said to Prosper, “ and you will see 
how far back one has to seek in the past, for the 
primary causes of a crime. All things are linked 
together and dependent upon each other in this 
world of ours. If Gaston de Clameran had not 
entered a little cafe at Tarascon to play a game of 
billiards twenty years ago, your safe would not 
have been robbed three weeks back. Valentine de 
La Verberie is punished in 1866 for the murders 
committed for her sake in 1840. Nothing is ever 
lost or forgotten. Listen.” 

M. Verduret did not finish his report until four 
o’clock in the morning; then he exclaimed trium¬ 
phantly: And now they are on their guard; they 
are wary rascals too; but I can laugh at their 
efforts, for I have them safe. Before a week is 
over. Prosper, your innocence will be recognized by 
every one. I promised your father this.” 

“ Is it possible? ” murmured Prosper in a dazed 
way; “ is it possible? ” 

What? ” 

“ All this you have just told me.” 

M. Verduret bounded like a man little accus¬ 
tomed to have the accuracy of his information 
doubted. “ Is it possible, indeed? ” he cried; “ but 
it is truth itself, truth founded on fact and exposed 
in all its impressiveness! ” 

“ But how can such rascalities take place in 
Paris, in our very midst, without — ” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER--MIND 365 

“Ah!” interrupted the stout man, “you are 
young, my friend! Crimes worse than this happen, 
and you know nothing of them. You think the 
horrors of the assize court are the only ones. Pooh! 
You only read in the ‘ Gazette des Tribunaux ’ of 
the bloody melodramas of life, where the actors, 
low-born villains, are as cowardly as the knife, or 
as stupid as the poison they use. It is at the 
family fireside, often under shelter of the law itself, 
that the real tragedies of life are enacted; in these 
days traitors wear gloves, scoundrels cloak them¬ 
selves in public esteem, and their victims die 
broken-hearted, but smiling to the last. What I 
have just related to you is almost an every-day 
occurrence; and yet you profess astonishment.” 

“ I can’t help wondering how you discovered all, 
this tissue of crime.” 

“ Ah, that is the point! ” said M. Verduret, with 
a self-satisfied smile. “ When I undertake a task, 
I devote my whole attention to it. Now, make a 
note of this: When a man of ordinary intelligence 
concentrates his thoughts and energies upon the 
attainment of an object, he is almost always cer¬ 
tain to ultimately obtain success. Besides that, I 
have my own means of working up a case.” 

“ Still I don’t see what grounds you had to go 
upon.” 

“To be sure, one needs some light to guide one 
in a dark affair like this. But the fire in De Clam- 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


366 

eran’s eye at the mention of Gaston’s name ignited 
my lantern. From that moment I walked straight 
to the solution of the mystery, as to a beacon.” 

Prosper’s eager, questioning looks showed that 
he would like to know the secret of his protector’s 
wonderful penetration, and at the same time be 
more thoroughly convinced that what he had heard 
was all true — that his innocence would be clearly 
proved. 

“ Now confess,” cried M. Verduret, “ you would 
give something to know how I discovered the 
truth.” 

M. Verduret enjoyed Prosper’s bewilderment. 
To be sure, he was neither a good judge nor a dis¬ 
tinguished amateur; but sincere admiration is al¬ 
ways flattering, no matter whence it comes. 
“ Well,” he replied, “ I will explain my system. 
There is nothing marvellous about it as you will 
soon see. We worked together to find the solution 
of the problem, so you know my reason for sus¬ 
pecting De Clameran as the prime mover in the 
robbery. As soon as I had arrived at this conclu¬ 
sion my task was easy. You want to know what 
I did? I placed trustworthy people to watch the 
parties in whom I was most interested. Joseph 
Dubois took charge of De Clameran, and Nina 
Gipsy never lost sight of Madame Fauvel and her 
niece.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 367 

“ I know, and I cannot comprehend how Nina 
ever consented to this service.” 

“ That is my secret,” replied M. Verduret. 

Having the assistance of good eyes and quick ears 
on the spot, I went to Beaucaire to inquire into 
the past, so as to link it with what I was sure to 
learn of the present. The next day I was at 
Clameran; and the first step I took was to find the 
son of Jean, the old valet. An honest fellow he is, 
too; open and simple as nature herself; and he at 
once guessed that I wanted to purchase some 
madder.” 

“ Madder? ” said Prosper with a puzzled look. 

“ Of course I wanted to buy his madder. I did 
not appear to him as I do to you now. He had 
madder for sale, that was evident; so we began to 
bargain about the price. The debate lasted almost 
all day, during which time we drank a dozen bottles 
of wine. About supper time, Jean, the younger, 
was as drunk as a barrel, and I had purchased 
nine hundred francs’ worth of madder which your 
father will sell for me.” Prosper looked so aston¬ 
ished that M. Verduret laughed heartily. I 
risked nine hundred francs,” he continued, but 
thread by thread I gathered the whole history of 
the De Clamerans, Gaston’s love affair, his flight, 
and the stumbling of the horse ridden by Louis. 
I found also that about a year ago Louis returned 


368 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

and sold the chateau to a man named Fougeroux, 
whose wife, Mihonne, had a secret interview with 
Louis the day of the purchase. I went to see 
Mihonne. Poor woman! her rascally husband has 
pounded nearly all the sense out of her; she is 
almost idiotic. I convinced her that I came from 
some De Clameran or other, and she at once re¬ 
lated to me everything she knew.” The apparent 
simplicity of this mode of investigation confounded 
Prosper. “ From that time,” continued M. Verdu- 
ret, “ the skein began to disentangle; I held the 
principal thread. I now set about finding out what 
had become of Gaston. Lafourcade, who is a 
friend of your father, informed me that he bought 
an iron foundry at Oloron, had settled there, and 
died soon after.” 

“ You are certainly indefatigable! ” said Prosper. 

“ No, but I always strike when the iron is hot. 
At Oloron, I met Manuel, who had gone there to 
make a little visit before returning to Spain. From 
him I obtained a complete history of Gaston’s life, 
and all the particulars of his death. Manuel also 
told me of Louis’ visit; and an inn keeper described 
a young workman who was there at the same time, 
whom I at once recognized as Raoul.” 

“ But how did you know of all the conversation 
between the villains? ” asked Prosper. 

“You evidently think I have been drawing 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 369 

upon my imagination. You will soon think the 
contrary. While I was at work in Oloron, my as¬ 
sistants here did not sit with their hands in their 
pockets. Mutually distrustful, De Clameran and 
Raoul preserved all the letters they received from 
each other. Joseph Dubois copied most of them, 
and had the more important ones photographed, 
and forwarded the copies to me. Nina spent her 
time listening at all the doors, and sent me a faith¬ 
ful report of everything she heard. Finally, I have 
at the Fauvels’ another means of investigation, 
which I will reveal to you later.” 

“ I understand it now,” murmured Prosper. 

“ And what have you been doing during my ab¬ 
sence, my young friend? ” asked M. Verduret. 

At this question Prosper turned crimson. But 
he knew that it would never do to keep silent about 
his imprudent step. “Alas! ” he stammered, “I 
read in a newspaper that De Clameran was about 
to marry Madeleine; and I acted like a fool.” 

“ What did you do? ” inquired M. Verduret 
anxiously. 

“ I sent M. Fauvel an anonymous letter, in 
which I insinuated that his wife was in love with 
Raoul — ” 

M. Verduret here brought his clenched fist down 
upon the little table near which he sat, and broke 
it. “Wretched man! ” he cried, “you have prob- 


370 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


ably ruined everything.’’ A great change came 
over him. His usually jovial face assumed a men¬ 
acing expression. He rose from his seat, and strode 
up and down the room, oblivious of the lodgers on 
the floor below. “ But you must be a baby,” added 
he to the dismayed Prosper, an idiot, or, worse 
than that, a fool.” 

“ Sir! ” 

“ Here you are drowning; a brave man springs 
into the water after you, and just as he is on the 
point of saving you, you cling to his feet to prevent 
his swimming! What did I tell you to do? ” 

“Well! ” 

The consciousness of having done a foolish thing 
made Prosper as frightened as a schoolboy, ac¬ 
cused by his teacher of playing truant. “ It was 
night, sir,” he said, “ and, having a violent head¬ 
ache, I took a walk along the quays. I thought 
there would be no harm in my entering a cafe; I 
took up a paper and read the dreadful announce¬ 
ment.” 

“ Was it not settled that you should have perfect 
confidence in me? ” 

“ You were not here, sir; this announcement had 
quite upset me; you were far away, and might 
have been surprised by an unexpected — ” 

“ Nothing is unexpected except to a fool! ” de¬ 
clared M. Verduret peremptorily. “ To write an 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 371 

anonymous letter! Do you know to what you ex¬ 
pose me? You are the cause of my perhaps break¬ 
ing a sacred promise made to one of the few per¬ 
sons whom I highly esteem among my fellow beings. 
I shall be looked upon as a cheat, a dastard, 
I, who — ” He stopped abruptly, as if afraid of 
saying too much, and it was only after some min¬ 
utes that, having become calm again, he resumed: 

It is no use crying over what is done. We must 
try and get out of the mess somehow. When and 
where did you post this letter? ” 

Last night, in the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. 
It hardly reached the bottom of the box before I 
regretted having written it.’^ 

“ Your regrets should have come sooner. What 
time was it? ” 

“ About ten o’clock.’’ 

“ Then your sweet little letter must have reached 
M. Fauvel this morning with his other correspond¬ 
ence; probably he was alone in his study when 
he opened and read it.” 

“ It is not probable, it is certain.” 

Can you recall the exact words of your letter? 
Stop and think, for it is very important that I 
should know.” 

“ Oh, it is unnecessary for me to reflect. I re¬ 
member the letter as if I had just written it.” And 
he repeated almost verbatim what he had written. 


372 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

M. Verduret listened most attentively with a 
perplexed frown upon his face. That is a formid¬ 
able anonymous letter,” he murmured, to come 
from a person who does not deal in such things. It 
insinuates everything without specifying a single 
thing; it is vague, jeering, and treacherous. Re¬ 
peat it to me.” Prosper obeyed, and his second 
version did not vary from the first in a single word. 
“ Nothing could be more alarming than that allu¬ 
sion to the cashier,” said the stout man, repeating 
the words after Prosper. “ The question, ‘ Is it 
also he who has stolen Madame FauvePs dia¬ 
monds? ^ is simply horrible! What could be more 
exasperating than the sarcastic advice, ‘ In your 
place, I would not have any public scandal, but 
would watch my wife? ’ The effect of your letter 
must have been terrible,” he added thoughtfully, 
as he stood with folded arms in front of Prosper. 

M. Fauvel is quick-tempered, is he not? ” 

“ He has a very violent temper.” 

“ Then the mischief is perhaps not irreparable.” 

“ What! do you suppose — ” 

I think that an impulsive man is afraid of him¬ 
self, and seldom carries out his first intentions. 
That is our only chance. If, upon the receipt of 
your bomb-shell, M. Fauvel, unable to restrain 
himself, rushed into his wife’s room, exclaiming, 
‘ Where are your diamonds? ’ our plans are done 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 373 

for. I know Madame Fauvel, she will confess all.” 

‘‘ Why would this be so disastrous? ” 

“ Because, the moment Madame Fauvel opens 
her lips to her husband, our birds will take flight.” 

Prosper had never thought of this eventuality. 

“ Then, again,” continued M. Verduret, “ it 
would deeply distress another person.” 

“ Any one whom I know? ” 

“ Yes, my friend, and very well too. I should 
certainly be vexed to the last degree, if these two 
rascals escape without my being thoroughly in¬ 
formed about them.” 

“ It seems to me that you know sufficient.” 

M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders, and asked: 
“ Did you not perceive any gaps in my narrative? ” 

“ Not one.” 

“ That is because you don’t know how to listen. 
In the first place, did Louis de Clameran poison his 
brother or not? ” 

“ Yes; I am sure of it, from what you tell me.” 

“There you are! You are much more certain, 
young man, than I am. Your opinion is mine; but 
what decisive proof have we? None. I skilfully 
questioned Dr. C. He has not the shadow of a 
suspicion; and Dr. C. is no quack; he is a 
learned and observing man of high standing. What 
poisons produce the effects described? I know of 
none; and yet I have studied all sorts of poisons, 


374 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


from the digitalis used by La Pommeraye to 
Madame Sauvresy’s aconite.” 

“ The death took place so opportunely — ” 

“ That anybody would suspect foul play. That 
is true; but chance is sometimes a wonderful ac¬ 
complice in crime. In the second place, I know 
nothing of Raoul’s antecedents.” 

“ Is information on that point necessary? ” 
“Indispensable, my friend; but we will soon 
know something. I have sent one of my men — 
excuse me, I mean one of my friends — who is 
very expert, M. Palot; and he writes that he is on 
the track. I am interested in the history of this 
sentimental, skeptical young rascal. I have an idea 
that, had he not known De Clameran, he might 
have been a brave honest sort of youth.” 

Prosper was no longer listening. M. Verduret’s 
words had inspired him with confidence. Already 
he saw the guilty men arraigned before the bar of 
justice; and enjoyed, in anticipation, this assize- 
court drama, where he would be publicly righted, 
after having been so openly dishonored. More 
than that, he now understood Madeleine, her 
strange conduct at the dressmaker’s was explained, 
and he knew that she had never ceased to love 
him. This certainty of future happiness restored 
all the self-possession that had deserted him the 
day he found the safe robbed. For the first time 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 375 

he was astonished at the peculiarity of his situa¬ 
tion. Prosper had at first only been surprised at 
the protection of M. Verduret and the extent of 
his investigations; now he asked himself, what could 
have been his friend’s motives for acting thus? In 
a word, what price did he expect for this sacrifice 
of time and labor? His anxiety was so great on 
this point that he suddenly exclaimed: “You have 
no longer the right, sir, to preserve your incognito 
with me. When you have saved the honor and 
life of a man, you should at least let him know 
whom he has to thank.” 

“Oh! ” said M. Verduret smilingly; “you are 
not out of the mess yet. You are not married 
either; so you must, for a few days longer, have 
patience and faith.” The clock struck six. “ Good 
heavens! ” he added. “ Can it be six o’clock? I 
did hope to have a good night’s rest, but this is no 
time for sleeping.” He went on to the landing, 
and leaning over the balusters, called: “ Madame 
Alexandre! I say, Madame Alexandre! ” 

The hostess of the Grand Archangel, the portly 
wife of Fanferlot, the Squirrel, had evidently not 
been to bed. This fact struck Prosper. She ap¬ 
peared, obsequious, smiling, and eager to please. 
“ What do you require, gentlemen? ” she inquired. 

“ You can send me your — Joseph Dubois, and 
also Palmyre, as soon as possible. Have them 


376 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


sent for at once, and let me know when they ar¬ 
rive. I will take a little rest in the meantime.” 

As soon as Madame Alexandre left the room, 
the stout man unceremoniously threw himself on 
the bed. “ You have no objection, I suppose,” he 
said to Prosper. In five minutes he was fast asleep; 
and Prosper, more perplexed than ever, seated 
himself in an easy-chair and wondered who this 
strange man could be. About nine o^clock some 
one tapped timidly at the door. Slight as the noise 
was, it aroused M. Verduret, who sprang up, and 
called out: “Who is there?” But Prosper had 
already opened the door. Joseph Dubois, the 
Marquis de Clameran’s valet, entered. M. Verdu- 
ret’s assistant was breathless from running; and 
his little eyes were more restless than ever. 

“ Well, master, I am glad to see you once more,” 
he cried. “Now you can tell me what to do; I 
have been perfectly lost during your absence, and 
have felt like a puppet with a broken string.” 

“ What! you allow yourself to be disconcerted 
like that? ” 

“ Bless me! I think I had cause for alarm when 
I could not find you anywhere. Yesterday after¬ 
noon I sent you three telegrams, to the addresses 
you gave me, at Lyons, Beaucaire, and Oloron, and 
received no answer. I was almost going crazy when 
your message reached me just now.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 377 

“ Things are getting warm, then/’ 

Warm! They are burning! The place is too 
hot to hold me any longer.” 

Whilst speaking, M. Verduret occupied himself 
in repairing his toilet, which had become disar¬ 
ranged during his sleep. When he had finished, 
he threw himself in an easy-chair, and said to 
Joseph Dubois, who remained respectfully stand¬ 
ing, cap in hand, like a soldier awaiting orders: 
“ Explain yourself, my lad, and quickly, if you 
please; no long phrases.” 

It is just this, sir. I don’t know what your 
plans are, or what means you have of carrying 
them out; but you must wind up this affair and 
strike your final blow very quickly.” 

“ That is your opinion. Master Joseph! ” 

“ Yes, master, because if you wait any longer, 
good-by to our covey; you will only find an empty 
cage, and the birds flown. You smile? Yes, I 
know you are clever, and can accomplish anything; 
but they are cunning blades, and as slippery as 
eels. They know, too, that they are watched.” 

“ The devil they do! ” cried M. Verduret. 
“ Some one must have blundered.” 

“ Oh! nobody has done anything wrong,” replied 
Joseph. “You know that they suspected some¬ 
thing long ago. They gave you a proof of it, the 
night of the fancy dress ball; I mean that ugly 


378 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

cut on your arm. Ever since they have always 
slept with one eye open. They were feeling easier, 
however, when all of a sudden, yesterday, they be¬ 
gan to smell a rat! ’’ 

“ Was that why you sent me those telegrams? ” 

“ Of course. Now listen: yesterday morning 
when my master got up, about ten o’clock, he took 
it into his head to arrange the papers in his desk; 
which, by the way, has a disgusting lock which has 
given me a deal of trouble. Meanwhile, I pretended 
to be making up the fire, so as to remain in the 
room to watch him. That man has a Yankee’s 
eye! At the first glance he saw, or rather divined, 
that his sheets had been meddled with; he turned 
as white as a sheet, and swore an oath, such an 
oath! ” 

Never mind the oath; go on.” 

“ Well, how he discovered his letters had been 
touched I can’t imagine. You know how careful 
I am. I had put everything back in its place just as 
1 found it. To make sure he was not mistaken, the 
marquis picks up each paper, one at a time, turns 
it over, and smells it. I was just longing to offer 
him a microscope, when all of a sudden he sprang 
up, and kicking his chair to the other end of the 
room, flew at me in a fury. ‘ Somebody has been 
at my papers,’ he shrieked; ‘this letter has been 
photographed! ’ B-r-r-r! I am not a coward, but 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 379 

I can tell you that my heart stood perfectly still; 
I saw myself dead, cut into mince-meat; and I 
even said to myself, ‘ Fanfer — excuse me — Du¬ 
bois, my friend, you are done for.’ And I thought 
of Madame Alexandre.” 

M. Verduret was buried in thought, and paid no 
attention to the worthy Joseph’s analysis of his 
personal sensations. “ What happened next? ” he 
asked after a few minutes. 

“Why, I was needlessly frightened after all. 
The rascal did not dare to touch me. To be sure, 
I had taken the precaution to get out of his reach; 
we talked with a large table between us. While 
wondering what could have enabled him to dis¬ 
cover the secret, I defended myself with virtuous 
indignation. I said: ‘ It cannot be; Monsieur the 
Marquis is mistaken. Who would dare touch his 
papers? ’ Bah! Instead of listening to me, he 
flourished an open letter, saying: ^ This letter has 
been photographed I here is proof of it! ’ and he 
pointed to a little yellow spot on the paper, shriek¬ 
ing out: ‘Look! Smell! It is — ’ I forget the 
name he called it, but some acid used by photog¬ 
raphers.” 

“I know, I know,” said M. Verduret; “go on; 
what next? ” 

“ Then we had a scene; such a scene! He ended 
by seizing me by the coat collar, and shaking me 


380 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

like a plum tree, to make me tell him who I am, 
who I know, and where I came from. As if I 
know, myself! I was obliged to account for every 
minute of my time since I had been in his service. 
He was born to be an investigating magistrate. 
Then he sent for the hotel waiter, who attends to 
his rooms, and questioned him closely, but in Eng¬ 
lish, so that I could not understand. After awhile 
he cooled down, and when the waiter was gone, 
presented me with twenty francs, saying: ‘ I am 
sorry I was so hasty with you; you are too stupid 
to have been guilty.’ ” 

He said that, did he? ” 

He used those very words to my face, master.” 

“ And you think he meant what he said? ” 

“ Certainly I do.” 

The stout man smiled, and whistled in a way 
that showed that he had a different opinion. “ If 
you think that,” he said, “ De Clameran was right. 
You are not up to much.” 

It was easy to see that Joseph Dubois was anx¬ 
ious to give his grounds for his opinion, but dared 
not. “ I suppose I am stupid, if you think so,” he 
replied humbly. “ Well, after he had done bluster¬ 
ing about the letters, the marquis dressed and went 
out. He would not take his carriage, but hired a 
cab at the hotel door. I thought he would perhaps 
disappear forever; but I was mistaken. About 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 381 

five o’clock he returned as gay as a lark. During 
his absence, I telegraphed to you.” 

What! did you not follow him? ” 

“ No; but one of our friends did, and this friend 
gave me a report of the dandy’s movements. First 
he went to a broker’s, then to a bank and a dis¬ 
count office. It is evident he is a man of capital. 
I expect he intends to go on a little trip some¬ 
where.” 

Is that all he did? ” 

“ That is all; yes. But I must tell you that 
the rascals tried to get Mademoiselle Palmyre shut 
up, ‘ administratively,’ you understand. Fortu¬ 
nately, you had anticipated something of the kind, 
and given orders so as to prevent it. But for you 
she would now be in prison.” Joseph left off 
speaking, and looked up at the ceiling by way of 
trying to remember whether he had not something 
more to say. Finding nothing, he added: That 
is all. I rather think M. Patrigent will rub his 
hands with delight when I take him my report. He 
has no idea of the facts collected to swell the size 
of his File No. 113.” 

There was a long silence. Joseph was right in 
supposing that the crisis had come. M. Verduret 
was arranging his plan of battle while waiting for 
the report of Nina — now Palmyre — upon which 
depended his point of attack. 


382 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


But Joseph Dubois was restless and uneasy. 
“ What am I to do now, master? ” he eisked. 

“ Return to the hotel; probably your master 
has noticed your absence; but he will say nothing 
about it, so continue — ” 

Here an exclamation from Prosper, who was 
standing near the window, interrupted M. Verduret. 
“ What is the matter? ” he inquired. 

De Clameran is there! ” replied Prosper. 

M. Verduret and Joseph ran to the window. 
“ Where is he? ” they asked. 

“ There, at the comer of the bridge, behind the 
orange woman’s stall.” 

Prosper was right. It was the noble Marquis 
de Clameran, who, hid behind the stall, was watch¬ 
ing for his servant to come out of the Grand Arch¬ 
angel. At first the quick-sighted Verduret had 
some doubt whether it was the marquis, who, being 
skilled in these hazardous expeditions, managed to 
conceal himself almost entirely. But a moment 
came when, elbowed by the pressing crowd, he 
was obliged to get off the pavement in full view of 
the window. 

“ Now you see I was right! ” cried the cashier. 

“ Well,” murmured Joseph, convinced, “ I am 
amazed! ” 

M. Verduret seemed not in the least surprised, 
but quietly said: The hunter is now being hunted. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 383 

Well, my boy, do you still think that your noble 
master was duped by your pretended injured inno¬ 
cence? ’’ 

You stated the contrary, sir,” replied Joseph 
in a humble tone; and a statement from you is 
more convincing than all the proofs in the world.” 

“ This pretended outburst of rage was premedi¬ 
tated on the part of your noble master. Knowing 
that he is being tracked, he naturally wishes to 
discover who his adversaries are. You can imagine 
how uncomfortable he must be whilst in this un¬ 
certainty. Perhaps he thinks his pursuers are 
some of his old accomplices, who, being hungry, 
want a piece of his cake. He will remain there 
until you go out; then he will come in to inquire 
who you are.” 

“ But I can leave without his seeing me.” 

“ Yes, I know. You will climb the little wall 
separating the hotel from the wine merchant’s 
yard, and keep along the stationer’s area, until 
you reach the Rue de la Huchette.” 

Poor Joseph looked as if he had just received a 
bucket of ice water upon his head. “ Exactly the 
way I was going,” he gasped out. “ I heard that 
you knew all the houses in Paris, and it certainly 
must be so.” 

The stout man made no reply to Joseph’s admir¬ 
ing remarks. He was wondering what advantage he 


384 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


could reap from De Clameran’s behavior. As to 
the cashier, he listened wonderingly, watching these 
strangers, who without any apparent reason, 
seemed determined to win the difficult game in 
which his honor, his happiness, and perhaps even 
his life, were the stake. 

“ I have another idea,” said Joseph after deep 
thought. 

What is it? ” 

“ I can walk quietly out of the front door, and 
with my hands in my pockets stroll slowly back 
to the Hotel du Louvre.” 

“ And then? ” 

“Well! then, De Clameran will come in and 
question Madame Alexandre, whom you can in¬ 
struct beforehand; and she is smart enough to put 
any joker off the track! ” 

“ Bad plan! ” pronounced M. Verduret decid¬ 
edly; “a scamp so compromised as De Clameran 
is not easily taken in; it will be impossible to re¬ 
assure him.” His mind was made up; for in a 
brief tone of authority, which admitted of no con¬ 
tradiction, he added: “I have a better plan. Has 
De Clameran, since he found out that his papers 
had been touched, seen De Lagors? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Perhaps he has written to him? ” 

“ I’ll bet you my head he has not. Having your 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 385 

orders to watch his correspondence, I invented a 
little system which informs me every time he 
touches a pen; during the last twenty-four hours 
the pens have not been touched.” 

“ De Clameran went out yesterday afternoon.” 

“ But the man who followed him says he wrote 
nothing on the way.” 

“ Then we have time yet! ” cried Verduret. 

Be quick! I give you fifteen minutes to make 
yourself another head; you know the sort; I will 
watch the rascal until you are ready.” 

The delighted Joseph disappeared in a twinkling, 
and Prosper and M. Verduret remained at the 
window observing De Clameran, who, according 
to the movements of the crowd, kept disappearing 
and reappearing, but was evidently determined 
not to quit his post until he had obtained the in¬ 
formation he sought. 

“ Why do you devote yourself exclusively to the 
marquis? ” asked Prosper. 

“ Because, my friend,” replied M. Verduret, 
“ because — that is my business, and not yours.” 

Joseph Dubois had been granted a quarter of an 
hour in which to metamorphose himself; before 
ten minutes had elapsed he reappeared. The 
dandified coachman with whiskers, red vest, and 
foppish manners, was replaced by a sinister-look¬ 
ing individual, whose very appearance was enough 


386 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

to scare any rogue. His black cravat twisted 
round a paper collar, and ornamented by an imi¬ 
tation diamond pin; his black frock coat buttoned 
up to the chin; his greasy hat and shiny boots 
and heavy cane — revealed the myrmidon of the 
Rue de Jerusalem, as plainly as the imiform 
denotes the soldier. Joseph Dubois had van¬ 
ished, and from his livery, phoenix-like and tri¬ 
umphant, rose the radiant Fanferlot, surnamed the 
Squirrel. 

When he entered the room. Prosper uttered a 
cry of surprise, almost of terror. He recognized 
the man who had assisted the commissary of police 
in his investigation at the bank on the day of the 
robbery. 

M. Verduret examined his follower with a satis¬ 
fied look, and said: “Not bad! There is enough 
of the police court air about you to alarm even an 
honest man. You understand me perfectly.” 

Fanferlot was transported with delight at this 
compliment. “ What must I do now, chief? ” he 
inquired. 

“ Nothing difficult for a smart man; but remem¬ 
ber, upon the precision of our movements depends 
the success of my plan. Before occupying myself 
with De Lagors, I wish to dispose of De Clameran. 
Now that the rascals are separated, we must pre¬ 
vent their coming together again.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 387 

“ I understand,’^ said Fanferlot, winking his eye; 

I am to create a diversion.” 

“ Exactly. Go out by the Rue de la Huchette, 
and hasten to the Pont St. Michel; loaf along the 
river bank, and finally place yourself on some of 
the steps of the quay, so that De Clameran may 
perceive he is being watched. If he fails to see 
you, do something to attract his attention.” 

“ I know! I will throw a stone in the water,” 
said Fanferlot, rubbing his hands with delight at 
his own brilliant idea. 

“ As soon as De Clameran has seen you,” con¬ 
tinued M. Verduret, “ he will be alarmed, and in¬ 
stantly decamp. You must follow him, and he, 
knowing that the police are after him, will do 
everything to escape you. You must keep both 
your eyes open for he is a cunning rascal.” 

I was not born yesterday.” 

“ So much the better. You can convince him of 
that. Well, knowing you are at his heels, he will 
not dare to return to the Hotel du Louvre, for fear 
of finding some troublesome visitors awaiting him. 
Now it is very important that he should not return 
to the hotel.” 

“ But suppose he does? ” said Fanferlot. 

M. Verduret thought for a minute, and then re¬ 
plied: “It is not at all likely; but if he should, 
you must wait until he comes out again, and con- 


388 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


tinue to follow him. But he won’t enter the hotel; 
very likely he will take the train; but in that event 
don’t lose sight of him, no matter if you have to 
follow him to Siberia. Have you money with 
you? ” 

“ I will get some from Madame Alexandre.” 

“ Very good. Ah! one word more. If the rascal 
does take the train, send me a line here. If he 
beats about the bush until night time, be on your 
guard, especially in lonely places; he is capable of 
anything.” 

“ If necessary, may I fire? ” 

“ Don’t be rash; but, if he attacks you, of course 
defend yourself. Come, ’tis time you were gone.” 

Dubois-Fanferlot went out. M. Verduret and 
Prosper resumed their post of observation. “ Why 
all this secrecy? ” inquired Prosper. De Clam- 
eran is guilty of ten times worse crimes than I 
was ever accused of, and yet my disgrace was made 
as public as possible.” 

Don’t you understand,” replied the stout man, 
that I wish to separate Raoul’s cause from that 
of the marquis? But, hush! Look! ” De Clam- 
eran had left his place near the orange woman’s 
stand, and approached the parapet of the bridge, 
where he seemed to be trying to make out some 
unexpected object. “Ah! ” murmured M. Verdu¬ 
ret; “he has just discovered our man.” De Clam- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 389 

eran’s uneasiness was quite apparent; he walked 
forward a few steps, as if intending to cross the 
bridge; then, suddenly turning round, walked 
rapidly away in the direction of the Rue St. 
Jacques. He is caught! ” cried M. Verduret with 
delight. 

At that moment the door opened, and Madame 
Nina Gipsy, alias Palmyre Chocareille, entered. 
Poor Nina! Each day since she entered Made¬ 
leine’s service seemed to have aged her a year. 
Tears had dimmed the brilliancy of her beautiful 
black eyes; her rosy cheeks were pale and hollow, 
and her merry smile was quite gone. Poor Gipsy, 
once so gay and spirited, now crushed beneath the 
burden of her sorrows, was the picture of misery. 
Prosper thought that, wild with joy at seeing him, 
and proud of having so nobly devoted herself to 
his interests, Nina would throw her arms around his 
neck and hold him in a tight embrace. He was 
mistaken; and though entirely devoted to Made¬ 
leine since he knew the reason of her harshness to 
him, his deception affected him deeply. Nina 
scarcely seemed to know him. She saluted him 
timidly, almost like a stranger. She stood looking 
at M. Verduret, with a mixture of fear and devo¬ 
tion, like a poor dog that has been cruelly treated 
by its master. 

He, however, was kind and gentle in his manner 


390 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


towards her. “ Well, my dear,” he asked encour¬ 
agingly, “ what news do you bring me? ” 

“ Something is going on at the house, sir, and 
I have been trying to get here to tell you; at last. 
Mademoiselle Madeleine made an excuse for send¬ 
ing me out.” 

“ You must thank her for her confidence in me. 
I suppose she carried out the plan we decided 
upon? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ She receives the Marquis de Clameran’s 
visits? ” 

“ Since the marriage has been decided upon, he 
comes every day, and mademoiselle receives him 
with kindness. He seems to be delighted.” 

These answers filled Prosper with anger and 
alarm. The poor fellow, not comprehending M. 
Verduret’s intricate moves, felt as if he were being 
tossed about from pillar to post, and made the tool 
and laughing-stock of everybody. “ What! ” he 
cried; “ this worthless Marquis de Clameran, an 
assassin, and a thief, allowed to visit at M. Fauvel’s 
and pay his addresses to Madeleine? Where are 
the promises which you made me, sir? Have you 
merely been amusing yourself by raising my hopes, 
to dash them—” 

“Enough!” interrupted M. Verduret harshly; 
“you are really too good a young man to under- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 391 

stand anything, my friend. If you are incapable 
of helping yourself, at least have sense enough to 
refrain from stupidly importuning those who are 
working for you. Do you not think you have al¬ 
ready done sufficient mischief? ” Having admin¬ 
istered this rebuke, he turned to Nina, and said 
in softer tones: “ Go on, my child; what have you 
discovered? 

“ Nothing positive, sir; but enough to make me 
nervous, and fearful of impending danger. I am 
not certain, but suspect from appearances, that 
some dreadful catastrophe is about to happen. It 
may only be a presentiment. I cannot get any 
information from Madame Fauvel; she moves 
about like a ghost, never opening her lips. She 
seems to be afraid of her niece, and to be trying 
to conceal something from her.’^ 

What about M. Fauvel? 

“ I was just about to tell you, sir. Some fearful 
misfortune has happened to him, you may depend 
upon it. He wanders about as if he had lost his 
mind. Something certainly occurred yesterday; 
his voice even is changed. He is so harsh and ir¬ 
ritable that mademoiselle and M. Lucien were won¬ 
dering what could be the matter with him. He 
seems to be on the eve of giving way to a burst of 
anger; and there is a wild strange look about his 
eyes, especially when he looks at madame. Yester- 


392 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

day evening, when M. de Clameran was announced, 
he jumped up, and hurried out of the room, saying 
that he had some work to do in his study.” 

A triumphant exclamation from M. Verduret in¬ 
terrupted Nina. He was radiant. “Ah! ” he said 
to Prosper, forgetting his bad humor of a few min¬ 
utes before; “ ah! what did I tell you? ” 

“ He has evidently — ” 

“ Been afraid to give way to his first impulse; 
of course he had. He is now seeking for proofs of 
your assertions. He must have them by this time. 
Did the ladies go out yesterday? ” 

“ Yes, a part of the day.” 

“ What became of M. Fauvel? ” 

“The ladies took me with them; we left M. 
Fauvel at home.” 

“ There is no longer a doubt, now! ” cried the 
stout man; “he looked for proofs, and found them 
too! Your letter told him exactly where to go. 
Ah, Prosper, that unfortunate letter gives more 
trouble than everything else together.” 

These words seemed to throw a sudden light on 
Nina’s mind. “ I understand it now! ” she ex¬ 
claimed. “ M. Fauvel knows everything.” 

“That is, he thinks he knows everything; and 
what he has been led to believe, is worse than the 
true state of affairs.” 

“ That accounts for the order which M. Cavail- 
lon overheard him give to his valet, Evariste.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 393 

“ What order? ” 

“ He told Evariste to bring every letter that 
came to the house, no matter to whom addressed, 
into his study, and hand it to him; saying that, if 
this order was disobeyed, he should be instantly 
discharged.” 

“ At what time was this order given? ” asked M. 
Verduret. 

“ Yesterday afternoon.” 

“ That is what I was afraid of,” cried M. Ver¬ 
duret. “ He has clearly made up his mind what 
course to pursue, and is keeping quiet so as to 
make his vengeance more sure. The question is. 
Have we still time to counteract his projects? 
Have we time to convince him that the anonymous 
letter was incorrect in some of its assertions? ” 

He tried to hit upon some plan for repairing the 
damage done by Prosper’s foolish letter. “ Thank 
you for your information, my dear child,” he said 
after a long silence. “ I will decide at once what 
steps to take, for it will never do to sit quietly 
and let things go on in this way. Return home 
without delay, and be careful of everything you 
say and do; for M. Fauvel suspects you of 
being in the plot. Send me word of anything 
that happens, no matter how insignificant it may 
be.” 

Nina, thus dismissed, did not move, but asked 
timidly: “ What about Caldas, sir? ” 


394 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


This was the third time during the last fortnight 
that Prosper had heard this name, Caldas. The 
first time, it had been whispered in his ear by a 
respectable-looking, middle-aged man, who prom¬ 
ised him his protection on one of the days he was 
at the Prefecture. The second time, the investi¬ 
gating magistrate had mentioned it in connection 
with Nina’s history. Prosper thought over all the 
men he had ever been connected with, but could 
recall none named Caldas. 

The impassible M. Verduret started and trem¬ 
bled at the sound of this name, but, quickly recov¬ 
ering himself, said: “ I promised to find him for 
you, and I will keep my promise. Now you must 
go; good-by.” 

It was twelve o’clock, and M. Verduret suddenly 
remembered that he was hungry. He called 
Madame Alexandre, and the all-powerful hostess 
of the Grand Archangel soon placed a tempting 
breakfast before Prosper and his protector. But 
the dainty meal failed to smooth M. Verduret’s 
perplexed brow. To the eager questions and com¬ 
plimentary remarks of Madame Alexandre, he 
merely answered: “ Hush, hush! let me alone; keep 
quiet.” 

For the first time since he had known the stout 
man. Prosper saw him betray anxiety and hesita¬ 
tion. He remained silent as long as he could, and 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 395 

then uneasily said: “I am afraid I have embar¬ 
rassed you very much, sir.’^ 

“ Yes, you have dreadfully embarrassed me,” 
replied M. Verduret. “ What on earth to do now, 
I don’t know! Shall I hasten matters, or keep 
quiet and wait for the next move. And I am 
bound by a sacred promise. Come, I must go and 
consult the investigating magistrate. He can per¬ 
haps assist me. You had better come too.” 

As M. Verduret had anticipated, Prosper’s anon¬ 
ymous letter had a terrible effect upon M. Fauvel. 
It was morning. M. Fauvel had just entered his 
study to attend to his correspondence. After open¬ 
ing a dozen letters on business, his eyes fell on the 
fatal missive. Something about the handwriting 
struck him as peculiar. It was evidently disguised, 
and although, owing to the fact of his being a 
millionaire, he was in the habit of receiving anony¬ 
mous communications, sometimes abusive, but gen¬ 
erally begging for money, this particular letter filled 
him with a presentiment of evil. With absolute cer¬ 
tainty that he was about to read of some calamity, 
he broke the seal, and unfolding the coarse writing 
paper of the cafe, commenced to read. What he 
read was a terrible blow to a man whose life hitherto 
had been an unbroken chain of prosperity, who 


396 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

could recall the past without one bitter regret, with¬ 
out remembering any sorrow deep enough to bring 
forth a tear. What! his wife deceive him! And 
among all men, to choose one vile enough to rob her 
of her jewels, and force her to be his accomplice in 
the ruin of an innocent young man! For did 
not the letter before him assert this to be the 
fact, and tell him how to convince himself of its 
truth? M. Fauvel was as bewildered as if he had 
been knocked on the head with a club. It was 
impossible for his scattered ideas to take in the 
enormity of what these dreadful words intimated. 
He seemed to be mentally and physically para¬ 
lyzed, as he sat there staring blankly at the letter. 
But in a few minutes his reason returned. 

Thus were realized all M. Verduret’s presump¬ 
tions. He had said, “ If M. Fauvel does not yield 
to his first impulse, if he stops to reflect, we have 
time to repair the harm done.’^ And after long and 
painful meditation, the banker had finally decided 
to wait and watch his wife. There was one simple 
means of ascertaining the truth. The letter stated 
that his wife’s diamonds had been pawned. If it 
lied in this instance, he would treat it with the scorn 
it deserved. But if, on the other hand, it should 
prove to be true! At this moment, the servant 
announced that lunch was served, and M. Fauvel 
looked in the glass before leaving his study, to see 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 397 

if his face betrayed the emotion he felt. He was 
shocked at the sight of his haggard features. 
“ Shall I be able to control my feelings? ” he asked 
himself. At table he did his utmost to look uncon¬ 
cerned, he talked incessantly, related several stories, 
hoping thus to distract the attention of the others. 
But, all the time he was talking, he was casting 
over in his mind various expedients for getting his 
wife out of the house long enough for him to 
search her room. At last he asked Madame Fauvel 
if she were going out at all that day. 

“ Yes,’^ she replied, the weather is dreadful, 
but Madeleine and I have some pressing matters 
to see after.’^ 

“ At what time do you think of starting? 

“ Immediately after lunch.’^ 

He drew a long breath as if relieved of a great 
weight. In a short time he would be able to learn 
the truth. His uncertainty was so torturing to the 
unhappy man that to it he preferred anything else, 
even the most dreadful reality. Lunch over, he 
lighted a cigar, but did not remain in the dining¬ 
room to smoke it, as was his habit. He went into 
his study, pretending he had some pressing work 
to attend to. »He took the precaution to send 
Lucien out so as to be quite alone. After the 
lapse of half an hour, he heard the carriage drive 
away with his wife and niece. Hurrying into 


398 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

Madame FauveFs room, he opened her jewel 
drawer. Several of the cases he knew she pos¬ 
sessed were missing, those that remained — there 
were ten or twelve of them — were empty. The 
anonymous letter had told the truth. Oh, it 
cannot be! ” he gasped in broken tones. “It is 
not possible! ” He wildly pulled open other 
drawers in the hope of finding the jewels. Seem¬ 
ingly nothing was changed in his existence; he was 
not materially injured; the objects around him 
remained the same; and yet what a commotion had 
taken place, a commotion more unheard of, 
surprising than the changing of night into day. 
What! Valentine, the pure young girl whom he 
had so loved and married in spite of her poverty; 
Valentine, the tender, loving wife, who had become 
dearer and dearer to him as years rolled on; could 
she have been deceiving him? She, the mother 
of his sons! His sons? Bitter thought! Were 
they his sons? If she could deceive him now 
when she was silver-haired had she not deceived 
him when she was young? Not only did he suffer 
in the present, but the uncertainty of the past 
tortured his soul. 

M. Fauvel did not long remain in this dejected 
state. Anger and a thirst for vengeance gave him 
fresh strength, and he determined to sell his past 
happiness dearly. He well knew that the fact of 


MONSIEVR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 399 

the diamonds being missing was not sufficient 
ground upon which to base an accusation. But 
he had plenty of means of procuring other proofs. 
He began calling his valet, and ordering him to 
bring to him every letter that should come to the 
house. He then telegraphed to a notary at St. 
Remy, for minute and authentic information about 
the De Lagors family, and especially about Raoul. 
Finally, following the advice of the anon)mious 
letter, he went to the Prefecture of Police, hoping 
to obtain De Clameran’s biography. But the 
police, fortunately for many people, are as dis¬ 
creetly silent as the grave. They guard their 
secrets as a miser his treasure. Nothing but an 
order from the Public Prosecutor could reveal the 
secrets of those terrible green boxes which are kept 
in an apartment by themselves, guarded like a 
banker^s strong room. M. Fauvel was p>olitely 
asked what motives urged him to inquire into the 
past life of a French citizen; and, as he declined 
to state his reasons, he was told he had better apply 
to the above-mentioned functionary. This advice 
he could not follow. He had sworn that the secret 
of his wrongs should be confined to the three per¬ 
sons interested. He chose to avenge his own in¬ 
juries, to be alone the judge and executioner. He re¬ 
turned home more enraged than ever; there he 
found a telegram answering the one which he had 


400 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

sent to St. Remy. It was as follows: ‘‘ The De 
Lagors are very poor, and there has never been any 
member of the family named Raoul. Madame De 
Lagors has no son, only two daughters.” This 
information was the final blow. The banker 
thought, when he discovered his wife’s infamy, that 
she had sinned as deeply as woman could sin; but 
he now saw that she had practiced a deception 
more shocking than the crime itself. 

^‘Wretched creature! ” he cried with anguish; 
in order to see her lover constantly, she dared pre¬ 
sent him to me under the name of a nephew who 
never existed. She had the shameless courage to 
introduce him beneath my roof, and seat him at my 
fireside, between myself and my sons; and I, con¬ 
fiding fool that I was, welcomed the villain, and 
lent him money.” 

That day he succeeded in concealing his agita¬ 
tion, and kept up a flow of talk during the whole 
time the dinner lasted. But at about nine o’clock, 
when De Clameran called, he hastened from the 
house, for fear that he would be unable to con¬ 
trol his indignation, and did not return home until 
late in the night. The next day he reaped the 
fruit of his prudence. Among the letters which 
his valet brought him at noon, was one bearing 
the post-mark of Vesinet. He carefully opened 
the envelope, and read, ‘‘ Dear Aunt — It is im- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 401 

peratively necessary for me to see you to-day; 
so I expect you. I will explain why I am prevented 
from calling at your house. — Raoul.” 

‘‘ I have them now! ” cried M. Fauvel, trembling 
with satisfaction at the near prospect of vengeance. 
Eager to lose no time, he opened a drawer, took 
out a revolver, and examined the hammer to see if 
it worked easily. He certainly imagined himself 
alone, but a vigilant eye was watching his move¬ 
ments. Nina immediately upon her return from the 
Grand Archangel, stationed herself at the key-hole 
of the study door, and saw all that occurred. M. 
Fauvel laid the weapon on the mantelpiece, and 
nervously resealed the letter, which he then took 
to the place where the letters were usually left, 
not wishing his wife to know that Raoul’s letter had 
passed through his hands. He was only absent 
a few minutes, but inspired by the imminence of 
the danger, Nina darted into the study, and rapidly 
extracted the cartridges from the revolver. “ By 
this means,” she murmured, “ the immediate peril 
is averted, and M. Verduret will now perhaps 
have time to act. I must send Cavaillon to tell 
him what is happening.” 

She hurried downstairs, and sent the clerk with 
a message, telling him to leave it with Madame 
Alexandre, if M. Verduret had left the hotel. An 
hour later, Madame Fauvel ordered her carriage, 


402 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


and went out. M. Fauvel jumped into a hackney 
coach, and followed her. 

“ God grant that M. Verduret may be in time! 
said Nina to herself, “ otherwise Madame Fauvel 
and Raoul are lost.” 

******** 

The day that the Marquis de Clameran per¬ 
ceived that Raoul de Lagors was the only obstacle 
between him and Madeleine, he swore that the ob¬ 
stacle should be removed. He at once took steps 
for the accomplishment of his purpose. As Raoul 
was walking home at Vesinet about midnight, he 
was assailed at a lonely spot not far from the sta¬ 
tion by three men, who, determined, so they said, 
to see the time by his watch, fell upon him sud¬ 
denly, and but for Raoul’s wonderful strength and 
agility, would have left him dead on the spot. 
As it was, he soon, by his skilfully plied blows, for 
he was proficient in fencing, and had learned 
boxing in England, made his enemies take to their 
heels. He quietly continued his walk home, fully 
determined in future, to be well armed when he 
went out at night. He never for an instant sus¬ 
pected his accomplice of having instigated the as¬ 
sault. But two days afterwards, while sitting in a 
cafe he frequented, a burly, vulgar-looking man, 
a stranger to him, tried to draw him into a quarrel 
about nothing, and finally threw a card in his face. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 403 

saying he was ready to grant him satisfaction when 
and where he pleased. Raoul rushed towards the 
man to chastise him on the spot; but his friends 
held him back. 

“Very well, then,’^ said he; “be at home to¬ 
morrow morning, sir, and I will send two of my 
friends to you.’’ As soon as the stranger had left, 
Raoul recovered from his excitement, and began 
to wonder what could have been the motive for 
this evidently premeditated insult. Picking up 
the card of the bully, he read: 

W. H. B. Jacobson 
Formerly Garibaldian volunteer^ 

Ex-staff officer of the armies of the South, 
(Italy, America). 

30, Rue Leonie. 

“ Oh! oh! ” thought Raoul, “ this glorious soldier 
may very possibly have won his laurels in a fencing 
school! ” 

Still the insult had been offered in the presence 
of others; and, no matter who the offender was, 
it must be noticed. Raoul requested two of his 
friends to call upon M. Jacobson early the next 
morning, and make arrangements for the duel. 
It was settled that they should render him an ac¬ 
count of their mission at the Hotel du Louvre, 
where he arranged to sleep. Everything being ar- 


404 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


ranged, Raoul went out to find out something about 
M. Jacobson. He was an expert at the business, 
but he had considerable trouble. The information 
he obtained was not very promising. M. Jacobson, 
who lived in a very suspicious-looking little hotel, 
frequented chiefly by women of loose character, 
was described to him as an eccentric gentleman, 
whose means of livelihood was a problem difficult 
to solve. He reigned despotically at an ordinary 
near by, went out a great deal, came home very 
late, and seemed to have no capital to live upon^ 
save his military titles, his talent for entertain¬ 
ing, and a notable quantity of various expedients. 

“ That being his character,” thought Raoul, “ I 
cannot see what object he can have in picking a 
quarrel with me. What good will it do him to 
run a sword through my body? Not the slightest; 
and, moreover, his pugnacious conduct is apt to 
attract the attention of the police, who from 
what I hear, are the last people this warrior would 
like to have after him. Therefore, for acting as 
he has done, he must have some reasons which I 
am unable to discern.” 

The result of his meditations was, that Raoul, 
upon his return to the Hotel du Louvre, did not 
mention a word of his adventure to De Clameran, 
whom he still found up. At half-past eight his 
seconds arrived. M. Jacobson had agreed to fight. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 405 

and had chosen the sword; but it must be that 
very hour, in the Bois de Vincennes. Raoul felt 
very uneasy, nevertheless he boldly said: I 

accept the gentleman’s conditions.” They went to 
the place decided upon, and after an interchange of 
a few thrusts Raoul was slightly wounded in the 
right shoulder. The “ Ex-staff officer of the armies 
of the South ” wished to continue the combat; but 
Raoul’s seconds — brave yoimg men — declared 
that honor was satisfied and that they had no in¬ 
tention of subjecting their friend’s life to unneces¬ 
sary hazards. The ex-officer was forced to sub¬ 
mit, and unwillingly retired from the field. Raoul 
went home delighted at having escaped with noth¬ 
ing more serious than a little loss of blood, and 
resolved to keep clear of all so-called Garibaldians 
in the future. In fact, a night’s reflection had con¬ 
vinced him that De Clameran was the instigator 
of the two attempts on his life. Madame Fauvel 
having told him what conditions Madeleine placed 
on her consent to marry, Raoul instantly saw how 
necessary his removal would be, now that he was 
an impediment in the way of De Clameran’s suc¬ 
cess. He recalled a thousand insignificant events 
of the last few days, and, on skilfully questioning 
the marquis, had his suspicions changed into cer¬ 
tainty. This conviction that the man whom he 
had so materially assisted in his criminal plans, had 


406 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

hired assassins to make away with him, made him 
mad with rage. This treason seemed, to him, mon¬ 
strous. He was as yet not sufficiently experi¬ 
enced in ruffianism to know that one villain 
always sacrifices another to advance his own proj¬ 
ects; he was credulous enough to believe in 
the old adage, of “ honor amongst thieves.” His 
rage was naturally mingled with fright, well know¬ 
ing that his life hung by a thread, when it was 
threatened by a daring scoundrel like De Clameran. 
He had twice miraculously escaped; a third attempt 
would more than likely prove fatal. Knowing his 
accomplice’s nature, Raoul saw himself surrounded 
by snares; he saw death before him in every form; 
he was equally afraid of going out, and of re¬ 
maining at home. He only ventured with the most 
suspicious caution into the most public places; 
he feared poison as much as the assassin’s knife, 
and imagined that every dish placed before him 
tasted of strychnine. This life of torture was in¬ 
tolerable, so with a desire for revenge as much as 
with a view of securing his personal safety, he de¬ 
termined to anticipate a struggle which he felt 
must terminate in the death of either De Clameran 
or himself. “ Better kill the devil,” said he, than 
be killed by him.” In his days of poverty, Raoul 
had often risked his liberty to obtain a few guineas, 
and would not have hesitated to make short work 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 407 

of a person like De Clameran. But with money 
prudence had come. He wished to enjoy his four 
hundred thousand francs without being com¬ 
promised by committing a murder which might be 
discovered; he therefore began to devise some 
other means of getting rid of his dreaded accom¬ 
plice. In the meantime, he thought it would be a 
good thing to thwart De Clameran’s marriage with 
Madeleine. He was sure that he would thus strike 
him to the heart, and this was at least a satisfaction. 
Raoul was persuaded that, by openly siding with 
Madeleine and her aunt, he could save them from 
De Clameran’s clutches. Having fully resolved 
upon this course, he wrote a note to Madame 
Fauvel asking for an interview. The poor woman 
hastened to Vesinet convinced that some new 
misfortune was in store for her. Her alarm was 
groundless. She found Raoul more tender and 
affectionate than he had ever been. He saw the 
necessity of reassuring her, and winning his old 
place in her forgiving heart, before making his 
disclosures. He succeeded. The poor lady had a 
smiling and happy look as she sat in an armchair, 
with Raoul kneeling beside her. 

“ I have distressed you too long, my dear 
mother,” he said in his softest tones; “ but I repent 
sincerely; now listen to me.” 

He had not time to say more; the door was vio- 


4o8 great detective STORIES 

lently thrown open, and Raoul, springing to his feet, 
was confronted by M. Fauvel. The banker had 
a revolver in his hand, and was ghastly pale. It 
was evident that he was making super-human efforts 
to remain calm, like a judge whose duty it is to 
justly punish crime. 

“ Ah,” he exclaimed with a horrible laugh, ‘‘ you 
look surprised. You did not expect me? You 
thought that my imbecile credulity assured you 
an eternal impunity! ” 

Raoul had the courage to place himself before 
Madame Fauvel, and to stand prepared to receive 
the expected bullet. 

“ I assure you, uncle,” he began. 

“ Enough! ” interrupted the banker with an an¬ 
gry gesture, let me hear no more infamous false¬ 
hoods! End this odious comedy, of which I am no 
longer the dupe.” 

“ I swear to you — ” 

“ Spare yourself the trouble of denying any¬ 
thing. Do you not see that I know all. I know 
who pawned my wife’s diamonds. I know who 
committed the robbery for which an innocent man 
was arrested and imprisoned! ” 

Madame Fauvel, white with terror, fell upon her 
knees. At last it had come — the dreadful day had 
come. Vainly had she added falsehood to falsehood; 
vainly had she sacrificed herself and others; all was 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 409 

discovered. She saw that she was lost, and wring¬ 
ing her hands, with her face bathed in tears, she 
moaned: “ Pardon, Andre! I beg you, forgive 
me! ” 

At these heart-broken tones, the banker shook 
like a leaf. This voice brought before him the 
twenty years of happiness which he had owed to 
this woman, who had always been the mistress of his 
heart, whose slightest wish had been his law, and 
who, by a smile or a frown, could make him the 
happiest or the most miserable of men. Could this 
wretched woman crouching at his feet be his be¬ 
loved Valentine, the pure, innocent girl whom he 
had found secluded in the chateau of La Verberie? 
Could this be the cherished wife whom he had 
worshipped for many years? In the memory he 
seemed to forget the present. 

“ Unhappy woman,” he murmured, “ unhappy 
woman! What had I done that you should thus 
deceive me? Ah, my only fault was loving you too 
deeply, and letting you see it. One wearies of 
everything in this world, even happiness. Did 
pure domestic joys pall upon you, and weary you, 
driving you to seek the excitement of sinful pas¬ 
sion? Were you so tired of the atmosphere of re¬ 
spect and affection which surrounded you, that 
you must needs risk your honor and mine by brav¬ 
ing public opinion? Oh, into what an abyss you 


410 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

have fallen, Valentine! If you were wearied by 
my constant devotion, had the thought of your 
children no power to restrain your evil passions? 

M. Fauvel spoke slowly, with painful effort, as 
if each word choked him. Raoul, who listened with 
attention, saw that if the banker knew some things, 
he certainly did not know all. He saw that errone¬ 
ous information had misled the unhappy man, and 
that he was a victim of false appearances. He 
determined to convince him of the mistake under 
which he was laboring. 

“ Sir,’^ he began, “ will you consent to listen — ” 

But the sound of Raouks voice was sufficient to 
break the charm. Silence! ” cried the banker 
with angry oath; “silence! ” 

For some moments nothing was heard but the 
sobs of Madame Fauvel. 

“ I came here,’' continued the banker, “ with the 
intention of surprising and killing you both. I 
have surprised you, but — my courage, yes my 
courage fails me — I cannot kill an unarmed man.” 

Raoul once more tried to speak. 

“Let me finish!” interrupted M. Fauvel. 
“ Your life is in my hands; the law excuses the 
vengeance of an outraged husband, but I refuse 
to take advantage of it. I see on your mantle- 
piece a revolver similar to mine; take it, and de¬ 
fend yourself.” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 411 

“ Never! ” 

“ Defend yourself!’' cried the banker raising his 
weapon, “ if you do not — ” 

Seeing the barrel of M. Fauvel’s revolver close 
to his breast, Raoul in self-defense seized his own 
and prepared to fire. 

“ Stand in that corner of the room, and I will 
stand in this,” continued the banker; “ and when 
the clock strikes, which will be in a few seconds, 
we will both fire together.” 

They took the places designated, and stood per¬ 
fectly still. But the horror of the scene was ton 
much for Madame Fauvel to witness it any longer 
without interposing. She understood but one thing; 
her son and her husband were about to kill each 
other before her eyes. Fright and horror gave her 
strength to rise and rush between the two men. 

“ For God’s sake, have mercy, Andre! ” she 
cried, turning to her husband and wringing her 
hands with anguish; “let me tell you everything; 
don’t kill him.” 

M. Fauvel mistook this burst of maternal love, 
for the pleadings of an adulterous wife defending 
her lover. He roughly seized his wife by the arm, 
and thrust her aside; “ Get out of the way! ” he 
cried. 

But she would not be repulsed; rushing up to 
Raoul, she threw her arms around him, and said to 


412 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

her husband: “ Kill me, and me alone; for I 
alone am guilty.” 

At these words M. Fauvel’s rage knew no bounds, 
he deliberately took aim at the guilty pair, and 
fired. As neither Raoul nor Madame Fauvel fell, 
the banker fired a second time; then a third. He 
was preparing for a fourth shot, when a man 
rushed into the room, snatched the revolver from 
the banker’s hand, and, throwing him on the sofa, 
ran towards Madame Fauvel. This man was M. 
Verduret, who had been warned by Cavaillon, but 
who did not know that Nina had previously with¬ 
drawn the charges from M. Fauvel’s weapon. 

“Thank Heaven!” he exclaimed, “she is un¬ 
hurt.” 

But the banker had already regained his feet. 
“ Leave me alone,” he cried, struggling to get free, 
“I will have vengeance!” 

M. Verduret seized his wrists in a vice-like grasp, 
and in a solemn tone, so as to give more weight to 
his words, he said: “Thank God you are saved 
from committing a terrible crime; the anonymous 
letter deceived you.” 

M. Fauvel never once thought of asking this 
stranger who he was and where he came from. 
He heard and understood but one fact: The 
anonymous letter had lied. “ But my wife con¬ 
fesses her guilt,” he stammered. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 415 

'' Yes,” replied M. Verduret, ‘‘ but not of the 
crime you imagine. Do you know who that man 
is, that you wish to kill? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Her son! ” 

The presence of this well-informed stranger 
seemed to confound Raoul and to frighten him 
more than M. Fauvel’s threats had done. Yet he 
had sufficient presence of mind to say: It is the 
truth! ” 

The banker looked wildly from Raoul to M. 
Verduret; then, fastening his haggard eyes on his 
wife exclaimed: “ What you tell me is not possible! 
Give me proofs!” 

“ You shall have proofs,” replied M. Verduret, 

but first listen.” 

And rapidly, with his wonderful talent for ex¬ 
position, he related the principal events of the 
drama he had discovered. The true state of the 
case was terribly distressing to M. Fauvel, but 
nothing compared with what he had suspected. 
His throbbing, yearning heart told him that he 
still loved his wife. Why should he punish a fault 
committed so very long ago, and atoned for by 
twenty years of devotion and suffering? For some 
moments after M. Verduret had finished his ex¬ 
planation, M. Fauvel remained silent. So many 
strange events had happened, following each other 


414 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


in such quick succession, and culminating in the 
shocking scene which had just taken place, that 
M. Fauvel seemed to be too bewildered to think 
clearly. If his heart counselled pardon and forget¬ 
fulness, wounded pride and self-respect demanded 
vengeance. If Raoul, the baleful witness, the 
living proof of a far-off sin, were not in existence, 
M. Fauvel would not have hesitated. Gaston de 
Clameran was dead; he would have held out his 
arms to his wife, saying: “ Come to my heart! 
your sacrifices for my honor shall be your absolu¬ 
tion; let the sad past be forgotten.^’ But the sight 
of Raoul froze the words upon his lips. 

“ So this is your son,” said he to his wife, “ this 
man, who has plundered you and robbed me! ” 
Madame Fauvel was unable to utter a word in 
reply to these reproachful words. 

“Oh!” said M. Verduret, “Madame will tell 
you that this young man is the son of Gaston de 
Clameran; she has never doubted it. But, the 
truth is—” 

“ What!” 

“ That in order to swindle her more easily, he 
has perpetrated a gross imposture.” 

During the last few minutes Raoul had been 
quietly creeping towards the door hoping to es¬ 
cape while no one was thinking of him. But M. 
Verduret, who anticipated his intention, was watch- 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 415 

ing him out of the corner of his eye, and stopped 
him just as he was about leaving the room. “ Not 
so fast, my pretty youth,’^ he said, dragging him 
into the middle of the apartment; “It is not 
polite to leave us so unceremoniously. Let us 
have a little explanation before parting!” 

M. Verduret’s jeering words and mocking man¬ 
ner were a revelation for Raoul. “ The merry- 
andrew!” he gasped, starting back with an af¬ 
frighted look. 

“ The same, my friend,” said the stout man. 
“ Ah, now that you recognize me, I confess that 
the merry-andrew and myself are one and the 
same; here is proof of it.” And turning up his 
sleeve he showed his bare arm. “ I think that this 
recent wound will convince you of my identity,” 
he continued. “ I imagine you know the villain 
that gave me this little decoration, that night I was 
walking along the Rue Bourdaloue. That being 
the case, you know, I have a slight claim upon 
you, and shall expect you to relate to us your 
little story.” But Raoul was so terrified that he 
could not utter a word. “ Your modesty prevents 
your speaking,” said M. Verduret. “ Bravo! 
modesty belongs to talent, and for one of your 
age you certainly have displayed a talent for 
knavery.” 

M. Fauvel listened without understanding a 


4i6 great detective STORIES 

word of what was said. ‘‘ Into what abyss of shame 
have we fallen!” he groaned. 

Reassure yourself, sir,” replied M. Verduret in 
a serious tone. “ After what I have been con¬ 
strained to tell you, what remains to be said is a 
mere trifle. This is the end of the story. On 
leaving Mihonne, who had given him a full ac¬ 
count of the misfortunes of Mademoiselle Valentine 
de La Verberie, De Clameran hastened to London. 
He had no difficulty in finding the farmer’s wife 
to whom the old countess had intrusted Gaston’s 
son. But here an unexpected disappointment 
greeted him. He learned that the child, who was 
registered on the parish books as Raoul-Valentin 
Wilson, had died of the croup when eighteen 
months old.” 

Raoul tried to protest. Did anyone dare say 
that?” he commenced. 

“ It was not only stated, but proved, my pretty 
youth,” replied M. Verduret. You don’t sup¬ 
pose I am a man to trust to mere gossip; do you?” 
He drew from his pocket several stamped docu¬ 
ments, and laid them on the table. “ These are 
the declarations of the nurse, her husband, and 
four witnesses. Here is an extract from the regis¬ 
try of births, this is a certificate of registry of 
death; and all these are authenticated at the 
French Embassy. Now are you satisfied, young 
man?” 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 417 

“ What next? ” inquired M. Fauvel. 

“ De Clameran,” replied M. Verduret, find¬ 
ing that the child was dead, supposed that he 
could, in spite of this disappointment, obtain money 
from Madame Fauvel; he was mistaken. His first 
attempt failed. Having an inventive turn of mind, 
he determined that the child should come to life 
again. Among his large circle of rascally ac¬ 
quaintances he selected the young fellow who 
stands before you.” 

Madame Fauvel was in a pitiable state. And 
yet she began to feel a ray of hope; her acute 
anxiety had so long tortured her, that the truth 
was a relief. “ Can this be possible? ” she mur¬ 
mured, “ can it be? ” 

“What? ” cried the banker; “can an infamous 
plot like this be planned in the present day? ” 

“ All this is false! ” said Raoul boldly. 

M. Verduret turned to Raoul, and, bowing with 
ironical respect, said: “You desire proofs, do 
you? You shall certainly have convincing ones. 
I have just left a friend of mine, M. Palot, who 
brought me valuable information from London. 
Now, my young gentleman, I will tell you the little 
story he told me, and then you can give your 
opinion of it. In 1847 Lord Murray, a wealthy 
and generous nobleman, had a jockey named Spen¬ 
cer, of whom he was very fond. At the Epsom 
races this jockey was thrown from his horse, and 


4i8 great detective STORIES 

killed. Lord Murray grieved over the loss of 
his favorite, and having no children of his own, 
declared his intention of adopting Spencer’s son, 
who was then but four years old. Thus James Spen¬ 
cer was brought up in affluence as heir to the im¬ 
mense wealth of the noble lord. He was a hand¬ 
some, intelligent boy, and gave satisfaction to his 
protector until he was sixteen years of age, when he 
became intimate with a worthless set of people, and 
went to the bad. Lord Murray, who was very in¬ 
dulgent, pardoned many grave faults; but one fine 
morning he discovered that his adopted son had 
been imitating his signature upon some checks. He 
indignantly dismissed him from his house, and told 
him never to show his face there again. James 
Spencer had been living in London about four 
years, managing to support himself by gambling 
and swindling, when he met De Clameran, who 
offered him twenty-five thousand francs to play a 
part in a little comedy which he had himself ar¬ 
ranged.” 

“ You are a detective! ” interrupted Raoul, not 
caring to hear any more. 

The stout man smiled blandly. 

“ At present,” he replied, “ I am merely Prosper 
Bertomy’s friend. It depends entirely upon your¬ 
self, as to which character I shall hereafter appear 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 419 

“ What do you require me to do? ” 

“Where are the three hundred and fifty thou¬ 
sand francs which you have stolen? ” 

The young rascal hesitated a moment and then 
said: “ The money is here.’^ 

“ Very good. This frankness will be of service 
to you. I know that the money is in this room, 
and also that it is at the bottom of that cup¬ 
board. Do you intend to refund it? ” 

Raoul saw that his game was lost. He trem¬ 
blingly went to the cupboard, and pulled out several 
rolls of bank notes, and an enormous package 
of pawnbroker's tickets. 

“ Very well done,” said M. Verduret, as he 
carefully examined the money and papers; “ this 
is the most sensible step you ever took.” 

Raoul relied on this moment, when everybody’s 
attention would be absorbed by the money, to make 
his escape. He crept towards the door, gently 
opened it, slipped out, and locked it, for the key 
was on the outside. 

“ He has escaped! ” cried M. Fauvel. 

“ Of course,” replied M. Verduret, without even 
looking up; “I thought he would have sense 
enough to do that.” 

“ But is he to go unpunished? ” 

“ My dear sir, would you have this affair be¬ 
come a public scandal? Do you wish your wife’s 


420 GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 

name to be brought into a case of this nature at 
the police court? ’’ 

‘"Oh! sir.’’ 

“ Then the best thing you can do is to let the 
rascal go. Here are receipts for all the articles 
which he has pawned, so that we should consider 
ourselves fortunate. He has kept fifty thousand 
francs, but that is all the better for you. That 
sum will enable him to leave France.’^ 

Like every one else, M. Fauvel yielded to M. 
Verduret’s ascendency. Gradually he had awak¬ 
ened to the true state of affairs; prospective hap¬ 
piness no longer seemed impossible. With earnest 
graditude he seized M. Verduret’s hand, and said 
in broken tones: “Oh, sir! How can I ever 
repay the great service you have rendered me? ” 
M. Verduret reflected a moment, and then re¬ 
plied: “ If you consider yourself under any ob¬ 
ligations to me, sir, I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“ A favor! you! ask of me! Speak, sir, you 
have but to name it. My fortune and my life are 
at your disposal.” 

“ I will not hesitate, then, to explain myself. 
I am Prosper’s friend. You can restore him to his 
former honorable position. You can do that much 
for him, sir! He loves Mademoiselle Madeleine— ” 
“ Madeleine shall be his wife, sir,” interrupted 
the banker; “ I give you my word. And I will so 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 421 

publicly exonerate him, that not a shadow of 
suspicion will ever rest upon his name.” 

The Stout man quietly took up his hat and 
cane, as if he had been paying an ordinary call. 
“ You will excuse my importuning you,” said he, 
“ but Madame Fauvel — ” 

Andre,” murmured the wretched woman, 
‘‘ Andre! ” 

The banker ran to his wife, and, clasping her 
in his arms, said tenderly: ‘^No, I will not be 
foolish enough to struggle against my heart. I do 
not pardon, Valentine; I forget; I forget all! ” 

M. Verduret had nothing more to do at Vesinet. 
Without taking leave of the banker, he quietly left 
the room, and, jumping into his cab, ordered the 
driver to return to Paris, and drive to the Hotel 
du Louvre as rapidly as possible. His mind was 
filled with anxiety. He knew that Raoul would 
give him no more trouble; the young rogue was 
now probably far off. But De Clameran should not 
escape unpunished; but how, without compromis¬ 
ing Madame Fauvel, was the problem to be solved. 
M. Verduret thought over various expedients. 
De Clameran would certainly escape before long. 
He was bemoaning his inability to come to a 
satisfactory decision, when the cab stopped in 
front of the Hotel du Louvre. It was almost 
dark. A crowd of people was collected round 


422 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


about the entrance, eagerly discussing some ex¬ 
citing event which seemed to have just taken 
place. 

“ What has happened? ” asked M. Verduret of 
one of the crowd. 

“ The strangest thing you have ever heard of,” 
replied the man: “ yes, I saw it with my own eyes. 
He first appeared at that seventh story window, 
he was only half dressed. Some men tried to seize 
him; but, bah! with the agility of a squirrel, he 
jumped out upon the roof, shrieking, ‘ Murder! 
murder! ^ The recklessness of his conduct led 
me to suppose — ” The gossip stopped short in 
his narrative, very much surprised and vexed; 
his questioner had vanished. 

“ If it should be De Clameran! ” thought M. 
Verduret; “ if terror has deranged that brain, so 
capable of working out great crimes! ” 

While thus talking to himself, he elbowed his 
way into the courtyard of the hoteL At the foot 
of the principal staircase he found M. Fanferlot 
and three peculiar looking individuals waiting to¬ 
gether. 

“Well! ” cried M. Verduret, “What has hap¬ 
pened? ” 

“ This is what has happened, sir,” said Fanferlot 
dejectedly. “ I am doomed to ill luck. You see 
how it is; this is the only chance I ever had of 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, — MASTER-MIND 423 

working out a beautiful case, and puff! my criminal 
goes and sells me.” 

“ Then it is De Clameran who — ” 

Of course it is. When the rascal saw me this 
morning, he scampered off like a hare. You should 
have seen him run, I thought he would never stop 
this side of Ivry; but not at all. On reaching the 
Boulevard des Ecoles, a sudden idea seemed to 
strike him, and he made a bee-line for his hotel; 
I suppose, to secure his pile of money. Directly 
he gets here, what does he see? these three friends 
of mine. The sight of these gentlemen had the 
effect of a sunstroke upon him; he went raving 
mad on the spot.” 

“ Where is he now? ” 

At the Prefecture, I suppose. Some policemen 
handcuffed him, and drove off with him in a cab.” 

M. Verduret and Fanferlot found De Clameran 
in one of the private cells reserved for dan¬ 
gerous prisoners. He had on a strait-waistcoat, 
and was struggling violently against three men, 
who were striving to hold him, while a physician 
tried to force him to swallow a potion. 

^‘Help! ” he shrieked, ‘‘help, for God^s sake! 
Do you not see my brother coming after me? 
Look! he wants to poison me! ” 

M. Verduret shuddered as he left the Prefec¬ 
ture. “ Madame Fauvel is saved,” he murmured. 


424 


GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ since God has himself punished De Clameran! 
The File No. 113 will never leave its portfolio.” 

♦ *>!«***** 

One morning some days later, M. Lecoq — 
the official Lecoq, who resembles the head of a 
department — was walking up and down his pri¬ 
vate office, looking at the clock at every moment. 
At last, a bell rang, and the faithful Janouille 
ushered in Madame Nina and Prosper Bertomy. 

“ Ah,” said M. Lecoq, “ you are punctual, my 
fond lovers; that is well.” 

“ We are not lovers, sir,” replied Madame 
Gipsy. ‘‘ Only M. VerdurePs orders have brought 
us together here to meet him.” 

“Very well,” said the celebrated detective; 
“ then be good enough to wait a few minutes; I 
will tell him you are here.” 

During the quarter of an hour that Nina and 
Prosper remained alone together, they did not 
exchange a word. Finally a door opened, and M. 
Verduret appeared. 

Nina and Prosper eagerly started towards him; 
but he checked them by one of those looks which 
no one ever dared to resist. “ You have come,” he 
said severely, “ to hear the secret of my conduct. 
I have promised, and will keep my word, how¬ 
ever painful it may be to my feelings. Listen, 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, —MASTER-MIND 425 

then. My best friend is a loyal, honest fellow, 
named Caldas. Eighteen months ago this friend 
was the happiest of men. Infatuated by a woman, 
he lived for her alone, and, fool that he was, 
imagined that as she owed all to him, she loved 
him.” 

“ Yes! ” cried Nina, “ yes, she loved him! ” 

So be it. She loved him so much, that one fine 
night she went off with another man. In his first 
moments of despair, Caldas wished to kill himself. 
Then he reflected that it would be wiser to live, 
and avenge himself.” 

“ But then — ” faltered Prosper. 

“ Then Caldas avenged himself in his own way. 
He made the woman who deceived him recognize 
his immense superiority over his rival. Weak, 
timid, and without intelligence the latter was dis¬ 
graced and falling into the abyss, where Caldas’ 
powerful hand saved him. For you have under¬ 
stood, have you not? The woman is Nina; the 
seducer is yourself; and Caldas is — ” 

With a quick, dexterous movement, he threw 
off his wig and whiskers, and stood before them 
the real, intelligent and proud Lecoq. 

Caldas! ” cried Nina. 

No, not Caldas, nor Verduret either, but Lecoq, 
the detective! ” 

There was a moment of astonished silence, then 













































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